


Where the Wild Wolves Have Gone

by satanic_panic



Category: The Lone Gunmen (TV), The X-Files
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Heavy Angst, Humor, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Mutual Pining, Nudity, Reader-Insert, Recreational Drug Use, Requited Unrequited Love, Sharing a Bed, Skinny Dipping, Slow Burn, Werewolf Transformation, Werewolves, werewolf reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 87,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29698698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satanic_panic/pseuds/satanic_panic
Summary: A local werewolf falls in love with a local investigative journalist, what could possibly go wrong? But with the help of some FBI agents and their Assistant Director, as well as some friends and a common enemy, perhaps a werewolf and a journalist can have a happily ever after.
Relationships: John Byers/Reader, John Fitzgerald Byers/Reader
Kudos: 1





	1. X-File №666: Son of a Wolf

It was a funny thing, really, a very funny thing to have been brought into a world where you knew that you would never truly fit into it; the blood of the wolf ran through your veins, it had been ever since you had been brought into the world. Purebred. A purebred werewolf. Your father had passed the blood onto you, and you would forever live with knowing that you had been… that you were a lycanthrope, not so much cursed with lycanthropy as much as living with it, tolerating it; there had been talks of being able to cure mutts, there had always been talks and rumours of those that had been bitten, those who had been infected with lycanthropy as opposed to born with it, having been cured of it; but you weren’t sure if you would ever want it, if they could somehow make a cure for purebred lycanthropy, you weren’t sure if you would want it - you had made peace with being a werewolf long ago, you had made peace with it so very long ago that you never really saw it as anything but a part of what made you who you were. Like your hair colour, your eye colour. It was all just a part of what made you who you were, it was all just a part of what made you the man you had become. With the founding of the Federal Bureau of Investigation back in nineteen-oh-eight, came the founding of the X-Files division, and from there, your family had helped, at least on your father’s side. On your father’s side of the family, they had worked closely with the X-Files department, lending a hand here and there on cases that they could, but no one ever dared to work for them officially, your father always spat on the floor and scoffed whenever someone asked why he never had a steady desk job at the Bureau, he would always howl with disgust if ever someone told him to work for the police. Walter Skinner. Your father was friends with a man called Walter Skinner. Walter Skinner who had become the Assistant Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation by the time that you had started to lend your occasional hand to a very certain agent. Your father had always been friends with Walter Skinner, though, you remembered that well; you remembered Skinner would sometimes come over for dinner on Tuesdays, and that he and your father would sit together at the kitchen table for hours and talk about their memories. You remembered Skinner would bring you books from time to time, that he would ruffle your hair and smile down at you before wandering into whatever room your father was in. You remembered him as a calm presence, and you remembered asking your father if, during the summer months when it was warmer, Uncle Skinner would come over and play football with you both in the back garden. 

Nobody was particularly surprised, though, when you and Fox Mulder became friends during your younger years, nobody could have ever said that they were shocked when a young Fox Mulder told his parents all about the little boy in his class who he had befriended, and nobody could have ever said that they were shocked when a young you had told your father all about the spooky boy in your class that you had befriended; nobody so much as blinked when you and Fox stayed as thick as thieves and as close as comrades so many years later. It was as if you had found your soulmates, the young boy who believed in aliens more than himself, and the young werewolf who would howl at the moon just to shoo those aliens away for his friend. No, it never came as much as a shock to anyone that you and Fox Mulder became close friends in childhood and, in adulthood, seemed just as close. When Fox ran off to Oxford, you didn’t mind so much, having studied your own thing and getting your own qualifications somewhere else, as although you were millions of miles apart and had not seen each other from the day he had left, the very second you reunited, the very second he came back to haunt you, you had crashed into him faster than lightning, hitting him like a cinder block the very second you could get a hold of him; he was sure that he still had bruises weeks and weeks after that day, but he didn’t mind it too much, not at all. The same as he didn’t mind it when you bruised him with your embrace when he graduated from the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s training and went on to become an agent, the same as he didn’t much it when you bruised him with your embrace whenever anything went right and whenever there was something to celebrate; you were so easily excitable at times, and Fox would always admit that it was something he deeply admired about you. Yes, indeed, you and Fox Mulder very much loved one another, and although it was easy to joke about, he was a member of your pack, very well and very truly. 

Yes, you and Fox would have fought anyone and everyone, tooth and nail, fang and claw, in order to protect one another, you had done for years, you had always protected Fox with everything that you had within your body, and he had always returned the favour. 

Amongst the trees, whose branches clawed at the dark grey night sky and hissed and bared their fangs at the wind, and amongst the bushes, whose brambles reached out with boney fingers to tug on your clothing and keep you close to their prickly bodies, and amongst the cold light brown clay that smeared into the dark brown mud and into the dark green sprouts of grass, and amongst the bats that flapped their wings as they flew about overhead, and amongst the light brown and white foxes that scuttled and scampered about here and there and everywhere, and amongst all of that and amongst all of it, stood in a clearing where you could see the moon through the tree branches; you could feel the pale, icy, moonlight on your face as you closed your eyes, your head tilted up at the sky and your breathing soft, your breathing relaxed, deep breaths in and deep breaths out, you were glad to be alone. You were glad to be without another soul. The moon was far from full, a mere smile in the sky with two eyes made of stars, the moon was far from full, but you didn’t care; you didn’t care that nothing would happen, you were just thankful that you were, at last, alone. Truly alone. You were just thankful that you did not have to speak to anybody that night; your father was at home cooking tea on his own in the family house that you had grown up and that he had raised you in and was far from where you were, your friend Fox was more than likely at home in his own flat miles away and probably making something for his own tea, Uncle Skinner was probably still at the office and working hard on either the next assignments for Fox and his partner Dana or was going through the latest string of reports and things that the X-Files department threw his way, your other friends The Lone Gunmen - made up of the wonderful John Fitzgerald Byers and his three friends, Langly and Frohike and Jimmy - were probably at their office and typing away their newest exposé on whatever conspiracy theory they had uncovered this time and were probably bickering while they were at it - everyone that you knew had their own thing to do that night, everyone that you knew had a reason to be at home and to be glad of it, everyone that you knew had one million and one reasons to never bother to think of what you were doing that night, to wonder and to ponder. And you were glad of that, if you were honest. You needed it, that night, you needed to be alone and to feel the moonlight on your face and to close your eyes and just allow yourself to feel real, to allow your mind to recognise that yes, everything was real, and that you were very much still concreted within reality. You needed that. 

But in all honesty, back at his flat, Fox was not making himself anything to eat, he had hardly gotten his shoes off before he had collapsed at his sofa with a bunch of manilla folders and files that he had opened and splayed about on his little coffee table, a glass of orange juice sat beside his fish tank and only just balancing on the black shelf as he hunched over and grumbled; his tie was loose, and his shirt was only half tucked in, his belt was undone and his blazer sleeves fell to his elbows and the blazer itself fell to about the middle of his back, his hair was messy, so much messier than he usually allowed it to be, his eyes were tired, he could feel the exhaustion in his bones more than anything else, he could feel the way that they ached and pleaded with him to lie down and to settle down for the night, but he easily ignored it without so much as a second thought, he easily pushed the thoughts of exhaustion and tiredness aside in favour of focusing on the coffee-stained pages that were laid and spread out in front of him; old X-Files and new ones, splayed and opened and ready to be read right in front of him. Old ones that had a name he recognised within an instant of seeing it, a name that made him smile. Your father’s name. Your father’s name littered the older X-Files here and there, they littered the older pages that had been stained with time, and it made him suppose that perhaps having friends in the Bureau and perhaps helping to solve X-Files ran in the family… or at least it seemed that way. But Fox couldn’t let himself be distracted as he dared to thumb through the files and the papers, a frown on his lips, his fingers trembling slightly each time he forced himself to bite down and suppress a yawn. He couldn’t let himself be distracted too much as he tried to focus on his task at hand, as he did his best to try and work through all of the previous cases that had been handled to try and understand exactly how he was supposed to deal with this one; he had handled a werewolf case here and there before, he had seen it here and there a few times, but never quite like his current assignment. An attack, right around the corner from the office where The Lone Gunmen were working from these days, an attack that had left no one dead, but one man seriously injured and with a large, canine, bite-mark on his shoulder, as if something had tried to partially devour him before being ripped off and thrown aside by something stronger; a man with a large bite on his shoulder that had been torn and peeled back at the edges from where the creature had been so violently pulled off but had locked its jaw and was refusing to let go. It seemed like a werewolf alright, there was no doubt in the world about that, it was almost certainly a werewolf, but Fox needed to have it double checked; he needed to have it double checked because he needed to know whether or not he should send reinforcements to the Gunmen in the form of a very familiar werewolf that he knew would help.

“No,” you shook your head, having had so little sleep and yet getting up early in the morning before the dawn had even thought about cracking and breaking open in the sky, you were far from pleased to have seen Fox on the other side of the door. “Fuck off.” 

“C’mon,” he pleaded, letting himself into your flat and gently shutting the door behind him as he frowned, shaking his head. He helped himself to your coffee, which you had made and had left a cup of on the kitchen counter. He leaned against it. 

“I said no,” you sighed, your ear twitching when you heard the wind rush into the window and whisper against it, making you swallow thickly. Last night, looking at the moon. You snatched the cup back from Fox with a huff, growling at him lowly. “No offense, Spooky, but I’m too tired to deal with whatever fuckin’ bullshit that’s goin’ on right now.” 

“It’s important,” he told you insistently, shaking his head. Fox would do anything to protect his friends, he really would, and if he knew any other way, regardless of whether it was equal or better, to protect Byers and Langly and Frohike, then he would have gone for it. But he didn’t, and he couldn’t find any way around it in the slightest. “Just hear me out.” 

You finished your coffee and grabbed an extra mug from the cupboard, making both yourself and Fox a cup this time as you sighed heavily and let out a grumbling sound from the back of your throat that had risen up from the bottom of your stomach. “What the fuck is so important that you have to grab me at fucking…” a quick look at the digital clock on the oven. “Four thirty in the morning and drink all of my coffee in the process?”

“I need help,” Fox shrugged, biting back a yawn that made his eyes water and his body tremble when he pushed it down low enough that it never slipped through his lips and from his throat. “It’s a case I’m working with Scully.” 

“Oh, goddamnit,” you rolled your eyes, sitting up on the counter and holding your hand out. “Alright, give it. I’ll… fuck, as much as I don’t want it, give it, I’ll read.” 

“I don’t… I don’t have it on me, right now,” he admitted quietly, scratching the back of his neck. “I was… I was thinking more along the lines of you… you helping me, though, by-”

“Please don’t say it.”

“By protecting someone for me, I know-”

“For fuck’s sake, Fox!” You howled. “God fucking damn you, man. I know your work means a lot to you and all, but fuck me! I am not a fucking… guard dog!” 

“I know,” Fox muttered. “I know, but… it’s the Gunmen, (y/n), they could be in danger.” 

You really didn’t want to let it slip that you would have dropped everything and anything to protect those four men, you didn’t want to be so weak as to abandon what you had just said in order to protect them; you needed to be stoic, you needed to be strong and to have an iron will that would not shake nor bend. But fuck, you would have given your life for the Gunmen, without reluctance, without hesitation, you would have laid down your life for them. They knew all about what you were, they knew that you were a werewolf and had known about it for a long time, they had known about it ever since Fox had dared to introduce you to them; although back then, he had not figured that you would have been so keen to spend time with them. Back then, Fox had thought that, like Scully when she had first met them, you would have brushed them off as little more than conspiracy theorists that were so much more paranoid than Fox could have ever been, but no. In fact, it was the opposite, in fact, it was as if you loved them at the very first sight and as if you wanted nothing more than to spend every day in their little office and by their sides; but even Fox could not help but to notice that there was one Gunmen in particular that you seemed more than fond of and one Gunmen in particular that you seemed to have a little bit of a soft spot for: Byers. Oh lord, the way Fox had caught you looking at Byers made him always smirk and smile a little to himself as he tried to hide it behind a bite of his lip or a scratch of his face. Too many times, Fox had caught you looking at Byers with the softest and sweetest of stares that was so sweet that it was sickly. Fox had known what it was immediately, and although he did tease you about it from time to time, he did try and keep it to himself for the most part for fear that something bad would happen to you if the wrong people found out and if the wrong people caught wind of the ways you felt for Byers; but Fox knew, he knew about your little soft spot and how you would find any excuse to dare to touch Byers - the ghosting of fingertips, the bumping of shoulders, the ‘accidental’ cuddling on the sofa and the sitting a little too close together so that your knees were touching. He knew, and he noticed. He didn’t say anything, though, not really. Not unless if he was alone with you, that is. Fox only dared to mention it and to talk about it openly when it was just the two of you, he wasn’t sure who knew about the fact that you were attracted to men, and he didn’t want to out you if you weren’t ready to be out or if you didn’t want to be. So, Fox kept quiet, but now, in the comfort of your flat and in the dead of dawn, Fox knew he could mention it. 

“Byers could be in danger, (y/n).” 

You froze a little, looking down at the floor. You reached up to run a hand through your hair before you sighed heavily, full of burden as you grumbled and did your best not to let it known that your will, that your strength, was fading and that the will and the strength and the drive to protect the Gunmen was growing stronger and stronger. “Fox… I’m sorry, man, but I can’t do it.” 

“Why not?” He asked, although he could already guess the answer to that, he could already guess why you weren't going to help, and he couldn't blame you for it, either, he could never blame you; the feeling of failure, the feeling of letting down the pack, Fox could guess how that felt although he could never truly understand it. But he knew that you still cared, he didn't think for even a second that not being able to do it or not wanting to take on such a task meant that you cared any less about the Gunmen, nor did he think that it had meant that you cared any less about him. Running a hand through his hair, Fox nodded slowly. He didn't need to wait for you to answer, especially not from the way you flashed him a glare. “Okay. I get it.” 

You huffed, reaching into the cupboard behind you and pulling out a packet of cigarettes, you lit one up, and Fox did his best not to wince and to flinch at the click of the lighter, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Fuck, he could remember the smell of the Cigarette Smoking Man's flat so awfully; the stench of stale ash and cigarettes and mouldy beer cans, Morley cigarette packets strewn about everywhere as if the man never had a bin to put them in. He clenched his jaw. He hated that man. He really wished he would have shot him that night Skinner had given him the address, he had yanked that musty smelling villain back and forced him into his chair so harshly, he had smacked that unlit cigarette out of his mouth so harsh that it had gone halfway across the room. He should have shot him then and there. 

“I'm sorry, Fox.” 

“No,” shaking his head, Fox huffed this time. “You don't… you don't need to apologise, you haven't done anything wrong.” 

He could figure something else out to try and help the Gunmen. He would find another way around it and he would find a different way to ensure that his friends were protected; maybe if he explained things to Skinner, he would understand, he would help… right? Surely, he would. 

“I haven't had the chance to see 'em in a while," you said after taking a long and miserable drag from your cigarette, leaning your head back and looking up at your kitchen light as if it was the moon, begging the yellow bulb for answers despite knowing that you would never have any, pleading with it to tell you what to do and what to say and how to feel and how to act when you knew that it would never so much as dare to whisper back at you. “How are they?” 

“They miss you,” Fox told you with a slight melancholic tone, a slight sprinkling of sadness as he shrugged and took a seat up on the counter furthest away from you, wanting to get as far away from the cigarette as possible without actually having to leave you. Fox knew you had your vices, he didn't mind so much, he knew you had your vices, but fuck, did he ever wish that cigarette brands would smell differently so that he wasn't violently reminded of that Cancer Man every single time you dared to spark one up. Swallowing thickly and clearing his throat, Fox looked at his shoes and at the grey-ish scuff marks on the dark leather. “Langly asked me to give one of your CDs back, but… my pockets aren't deep enough.” 

“Figures,” you chuckled. “Which one was it?” 

“Something by Metallica,” he told you with a slight hum and a smile. He had been to see them not two days ago, and while he had promised the Gunmen that you would soon see them, he did not say when, and he could not bring himself to explain that the reason you had not gone to see them was due to a problem within your family pack; an older member with medical problems, an older member that was not going to make it through another week. And they didn't. And although you were never really close to them, Fox could understand why you had distanced yourself for a week or two. Just as he could understand that being around Byers with emotions running higher than usual would have been a mistake; shifting was one thing that the Gunmen had seen you do before, and Fox knew that you weren't too worried about that. But confessing your love was another thing, and it was a thing that Fox knew all too well worried you to no end. “Frohike told me that he got in touch with the Rabbi you told him about.” 

“The trans one, yeah,” you nodded. “He's great, and honestly, I'm surprised Frohike didn't get his contact info earlier… I mean, he's a fucking great guy.” 

“Yeah, he said they spoke,” Fox confessed. “He said he's thinking about going to his synagogue from now on.” 

“That's awesome,” you smiled, genuinely smiled, as a puff of smoke left your mouth and twirled in the air for a moment before fading into nothingness and leaving absolutely nothing behind but the smell of smoke and nicotine. 

“Jimmy asked when you were going to swing by, he was really worried he'd done something wrong that made you angry at him,” letting out a little chuckle, Fox shook his head. “He really thought he had done something to make you hate him so much that you took it out on the guys.” 

“I hope you set the fucking record straight on that,” you snarled, glaring at him for a moment before Fox explained that, yes, he had put the record straight and although he did not tell them about the death of a pack member, he had told them that you had a family emergency and that you were unable to see them and to spend time with them for the time being, but that you would be over as soon as you were able to. “Good.” 

“Byers wanted me to tell you that, no matter what might be going on at the moment, he's just a phone call away,” Fox shot you a smile. “I think, out of all three of those guys? Byers was the most concerned about how you were doing… he cares a lot about you, (y/n). And he wanted to know that you were okay, and that you weren't… y'know… _getting bad_.” 

“I'm not,” you sighed, scratching at your arm and wincing a little when you felt the scab crack and pull apart from your flesh with a small spurt of blood; you weren't getting bad again, you were far from grabbing a knife or a razor and opening up your own skin… but that never stopped you from itching and picking and biting at the scabs on your skin. They were mostly healed, now, but you just couldn't help but to scratch and loosen up the scabs until they were bleeding and were protesting by making the skin around them feel hot and slightly swelled up. “You know I'm not.” 

“Yeah, I do,” Fox agreed, flashing you a smile. “But, other than all of that, they're good. Their latest thing was about… chimps, I think? They didn't let me get a good look at it because it's not finished, but I think it said something about chimps.” 

“Wonderful,” you rolled your eyes at the thought, it was probably something utterly ridiculous but bound to be true, after all, Byers was always saying how they never published any articles without cement proof and absolute concrete evidence. He was always sure of that. So no matter how ridiculous the newest front page article of The Lone Gunman was, you knew it was bound to be true and that they had the proof and the evidence to back it up, too. “Has he listened to that Huey Lewis song or not? Byers, I mean, has he listened to the Huey Lewis song I said about?” 

“I think so,” Fox nodded. “Hip To Be Square or something? Right?” 

“Hip To Be Square is right,” you nodded back. “Did he give it a listen?” 

“If you told him to jump off of a cliff, do you think he would do it?” Fox asked with a slightly cheeky smirk and a raised brow before he shook his head and sighed. “Nevermind. Don't… don't answer that, I already know.” 

When Fox left to meet up with his partner and to get a start on the day’s work, to try and immerse himself in his latest X-File a little more, you found yourself opening the window of Walter Skinner’s office, and although you were incredibly worried you would lose your grip on the small ledge, you somehow managed to open the large window, but once you were inside, it smashed shut with a thundering thud that made you yelp and take a quick look around the office; nothing was out of the ordinary, nothing was out of place from the last time you had been there, and his secretary had yet to burst in to ask what the commotion was about, so you figured you could relax. You made yourself at home in Skinner’s office, practically draped over the somewhat uncomfortable chair opposite his desk, letting out a loud yawn that exposed your teeth and made your tongue curl slightly at the end. You snapped your mouth shut, licking your lips and shaking your head when Skinner himself walked in, his hands in his pockets as he frowned. 

“I thought I locked that window,” he admitted, taking a seat at his desk and sighing, daring to watch as you shrugged and shot him a smile. “You know, it’s not very smart to break into the J. Edgar Hoover building, right?”

“Like you would ever rat me out,” you chuckled, raising a brow. “C’mon, Uncle Skinner, you gotta admit - it’s pretty ballsy.” 

“Ballsy and stupid,” Skinner told you with a shake of his head, he took something silver from his pocket, something that made your eyes widen and your shoulders tense as you caught a whiff of the metal. But then he placed it into a drawer in his desk, and leaned forward on the desk, placing his forearms on the thick wood and clasping his hands together. “What if someone else had walked in? If one of my field agents had come in looking for me and seen you-”

“But they didn’t,” you pointed out with a smile, pointing at him. “Did they?”

Skinner rubbed his temples with his hands, shaking his head and silently cursing you; he had never had this problem with your father, although he did suppose that that was more than likely because your father was older than he was, and he did suppose that your father had matured by the time that they had met and wasn’t still so much like an excitable puppy that yapped and snuck through his office window. Skinner did love you, though, after all, you were his nephew, and he was always looking out for you, but that didn’t stop him from pulling you up on your mistakes and telling you when you were being reckless. He loved you, that was true, but he was still stern and strict, regardless of whether he was your uncle. “That’s not the point, now, is it?”

But when he took a better look at you, Skinner couldn’t help but to realise that you looked more than a little bit worse for wear; tired eyes that were glazed over slightly from the tears that made your eyes water when you yawned; shaking and trembling hands; an old hoodie that had been sewn up so many times that there was hardly a scrap of original fabric left on it hung on your body, and he could see that you were slouching and that something was wrong, something was very, very wrong. 

“Was it a hard shift last night?” Skinner asked, watching as you moved to try and curl up into the chair, but you couldn’t, and nearly fell off of it in the process of trying to move. It made him roll his eyes.

“I didn’t have one,” you admitted with a shrug, shaking your head. “But fucking hell if that doesn’t stop my senses from being in fucking overdrive.” 

You could ignore the pain of aching senses easily, the way that the sun made your head pound and lights made your eyes sting, the way that you could hear everything for miles around made your head scream out in protest and wish for silence, the scents and smells of everyone and everything that you walked past and all around you were overwhelming, the taste of warm air on your tongue and the heat from the cars and vans and motorbikes that harshly hissed and ripped through the air made you growl and hold onto the sides of your head as you did your best not to let your senses get the better of you and cause you to break and to crumble. 

“Stay here,” Skinner told you, leaving no room for argument as he stood up. He walked over to where the little chain for his window’s blinds were, and yanked them down so that the office was cloaked in darkness. “Stay here for the day, let your senses calm down.” 

You nodded, tilting your head back so that you were looking up at the ceiling, squeezing your eyes tightly shut as your nostrils flared slightly, following your uncle’s scent as he moved about the room and moved some things around so that you would be as comfortable as possible; you turned your head to the side slightly when you realised that he was by the door. “Uncle Skinner?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks, man,” you grumbled, knowing that he shot you a small smile before he left the room and closed the door behind him with a gentle thud that was soon followed by a click; you grumbled, sighing heavily and folding your arms across your chest as you dared to try and get a little bit more comfortable, as you dared to allow yourself to sink into the quiet and into the darkness and into the cold air of the office, letting your senses cool down like smoking guns, letting yourself to relax and to calm down for a short while. Alone with your own thoughts wasn’t something you particularly wanted, but all the same, you were thankful for the fact that you no longer felt as if you were a wild animal that had been released into an urban area without so much as a “fuck off” or a map to let you find out what you were supposed to be going and when. Fuck, you hated the city. You hated how loud it was, as if no one there had ever heard of a little thing called silence. You hated how bright it was, as if no one had ever thought of getting an umbrella or pulling down a blind. You hated how thick the scent of everything was, as if no one there had ever heard of using a deodorant that couldn’t be smelled thirty-thousand miles away. You hated how the air tasted, how it made you recoil and whine, the taste of pollution on your tongue that made you gag. Fuck, you hated the city so much. You needed to get out of it and to move somewhere quieter, somewhere darker, somewhere colder, somewhere that didn’t stink like shit and taste twice as bad. You needed to be wild, in a way, you needed to be able to get away from the city and to indulge yourself in rural life like your father had done, like his father had done, like his father’s father had done, and like his father’s father’s father had done and like every single wolf in your family had done for generations and for centuries. You needed to escape.

You were pulled out of your thoughts rather violently when Fox walked in, slamming the door behind him although not out of malice as much as out of excitement as he grinned and tossed a beige coloured folder into your lap, making you grumble as you looked at it through the groggy haze of your senses finally being cleared; in big, bold lettering on the front of the folder, read a phrase that made you sigh. 

X-File №666: Son of a Wolf

“Oh, goddamnit, Fox,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Y’know, Skinner let me in here to get some peace and quiet.” 

You opened the file, starting to thumb through it with a frown and a low hum, a near growl from the back of your throat; he seemed to have linked the attack near the office of The Lone Gunmen to several other attacks, as well as murders, making it seem as if whoever it was was heading south - you looked at the pictures of the bite marks and the claw marks that littered the bodies of the victims, and the more you studied them, the more you could definitely conclude that it was a werewolf. The bite marks were unmistakably canine, elongated fangs going through flesh and through muscle and impaling the bone here and there, shattering it with a bite force so terrible that it could break a moose’s leg with just two or three single bites; the teeth of a predatory carnivore going through flesh like a freshly sharpened knife through paper, quick and tearing it apart. It made your hands shake as you swallowed thickly, knowing all too well that you, too, were capable of such brutality and knowing that, if you lost control, you, too, could commit such gory acts. Gory acts that easily broke bone. Shattered it. Gory acts that easily sliced through flesh and muscle. Torn it. You clenched your jaw, shaking your head and letting out a shaky breath. You tossed the folder onto Skinner’s desk, and dared to cover your face with your hands as you spoke, trembling and muffled. 

“It’s a werewolf, Fox… fuck, it’s definitely a werewolf.” 

“Do you think he’s going to target anyone else in the area?” He asked, sitting on the desk and kicking the thick wood with the back of his scruffy and scuffed up shoes. 

“No,” you sighed, shaking your head. Your stomach was churning, something burning and threatening to force its way up and out of your mouth, scorching your throat and flipping in your stomach like honey being stirred with a spoon. “No, they’re… they’re gonna head further down south.” 

“South?” He furrowed his brows. 

“South,” you confirmed with a nod, gagging and retching and heaving for a few moments, seconds that seemed like minutes before you dared to swallow it all down with a shudder, able to feel how your throat protested against it and how it burned and scalded on the way down to your stomach. “They’re scared, they’re alone, they’re probably a mutt, probably new to this werewolf thing but… don’t hurt them, Fox, they… they’re not sure what they’re doing, they’re not in control. That’s why they’re running, they’re scared.” 

“So what do I do?” Fox questioned softly, looking at you as if you had all the answers and more, as if you knew every single little thing about werewolves and then some… 

But you didn’t, and you could only shrug as you leaned back in the chair and let out a long groan as you tried not to let your lunch go early. “Fox, I hate to break it to you, but I’ve told you everything I know when it comes to this… you’re on your own, man.” 

“It’s okay,” Fox told you with a level of sincerity that you couldn’t help but to listen to and to accept what he had to say about it. Sliding off of the desk, Fox came to stand beside you, laying a hand on your shoulder as he smiled down at you and gently squeezed your shoulder, shaking you a little as you looked back up at him. “I can’t thank you enough for the help you’ve given me.” 

You laid your hand on his, giving him a small smile in return for the one that he gave you, you let out a little sigh, nodding slowly. “I’m just sorry that I-”

“In all the years we’ve known each other, (y/n), you haven’t needed to apologise once,” Fox stated. “And you still don’t.” 

You stood there for a moment, holding Fox’s hand on your shoulder and simply looking up at him, holding eye contact as you allowed your thumb to gently grace along his knuckles as you let out a sigh. You could live with letting him tell you to never apologise, you could live with him trying to assure you and to make you feel better, but for whatever reason, you could not bring yourself to believe his words, you could not bring yourself to take those words for gold and to accept them for the sincere small speeches that they were; when you eventually let go, though, you frowned and shook your head. 

“Fox?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you, uh…” you let go of his hand in order to rub the back of your neck as you shrugged. “Do you promise that it’s okay that I can’t help much?”

“I promise,” Fox told you with a nod. “Trust me on this, I promise… you’ve helped so much already, (y/n).” 

“Okay…” you grumbled, nodding and daring to snuggle back down into the chair as Fox left, taking the folder with him and closing the door with a gentle click, leaving you once more to be shrouded in the calm darkness of your Uncle Skinner’s office, alone again at last and not knowing when the next person would kill your tranquility. You did hope that it would be a good long while, you really did, but even still, as much as you hoped, that didn’t exactly mean that things would work out. 

Especially not when the door on the other side of the room unlocked with a harsh click and was pushed open with a soft thud that caused you to snarl as you looked over at whoever was daring to disturb you; a man that was definitely older than your father, standing at around six foot two, with grey hair and a clean shaven face stood there, searching his blazer pocket for something before pulling out a packet of Morley cigarettes and lighting one up, looking at you with a glare so cold that it could freeze fire as he walked, striding really, towards you and stopped to your left. He stank of stale beer and stale cigarettes. 

“(y/n) (y/l/n),” the man nodded at you, his voice hiding a certain growling villainy to it as he smoked his cigarette and flicked ash onto the floor. “Can’t say I’m surprised to see you here.” 

You glared at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as your upper lip tugged and curled into half of a snarl, your shoulders tensing and your jaw clenching as you looked him up and down, assessing how easy it would be to take him down if you absolutely needed to; but he scared you, in all honesty, as his icy demeanour and his rotten stench seared into your soul, making you shift uncomfortably as you tried to slowly and cautiously pull yourself away from him, to get as far away as you could. “Who the fuck are you?”

“A friend,” he lied, he so obviously lied that it was hard to not scream it in his face, but he smiled, a smile that was sickly as a hangover and the extra grease that dripped off of the pan after frying an egg, it made your stomach churn as you looked at him. He pulled out something from his pocket as he continued to puff on his cigarette and to let the ash fall to the floor, he pulled out a silver bullet, causing your heart to skip a beat before pounding in your chest, and he held it up to the light. “One shot with this and you’re a dead man.” 

“I don’t-”

“Don’t play coy, now, (y/n),” the man glared at you for a split second before turning his attention back to the silver bullet, somehow without it melting his cold hands. “I know your family history, I know who your father is.” 

“You don’t know jack fucking shit about-”

“I’ve never been much of a dog person,” he told you coldly, as if the very words were meant to freeze the red blood in your veins and turn it pale blue and cold, as if the very words were meant to make you back down and to tuck your tail between your legs and scurry off. “Especially when it comes to purebreds.”

“You son of a bitch, you-”

“Mister (y/l/n), when a dog goes rabid, what do you do with it?” The cigarette smoking man asked, finishing his smoke and putting it out in the ashtray he had been refusing to use, but then he lit up another, and pinned you to your seat in silence with a glare. “You shoot it, right between the eyes.” 

“And you’re saying you’ll do that to me?” You asked, a slight growl and snarl to your voice, one that would have made most people turn and run on their heels as if there would be no tomorrow. “You’ll shoot me right between the eyes if I don’t act like your fucking lap-dog, that it?”

“No,” he shook his head, tutting softly as he frowned and leaned in a little closer to you, a little closer so that you could smell the stale cigarettes on his breath along with the stale beer from the previous night, a little closer to you so that you could feel his icy glare burning into your very soul as he loomed over you; there was no light behind his eyes, there was no compassion nor peace or caring nor any sort of resemblance of something human other than greed and disgust, hatred and violence. “If you get too close, if you catch a scent of something you’re not supposed to, though… I won’t hesitate.” 

“I’m not scared of you,” you shot back with a snarl. “I’m not scared of some motherfucker that thinks he’s better than me.” Slowly, you rose to your feet, but within a flash, your forearm was on the man’s throat, and you had him pinned to the desk as you got in his face, practically showing your teeth and almost letting the more beastly side of you take hold as you kept your voice low, coming from the back of your throat, quiet. The silver bullet laid on the desk, rolling from this side to that as the cigarette he had been smoking still flickered on the floor, still lit. “Listen to me, motherfucker, I don’t give a shit if you have a silver bullet. I don’t give a shit if you have a whole fucking army with silver bullets. I’m. Not. Scared. Of. You. You got that? I’m not fucking scared of you, and you won’t fucking intimidate me.” 

Smiling once more, the cigarette smoking man shook his head slowly and gently pushed you off of him, pushing you back a little so that you slightly stumbled and had to stamp your feet to regain your balance, he picked his cigarette up off of the floor, and put it out in the ashtray. He lit up another one as he pocketed the silver bullet. “You would be wise to feel threatened, Mister (y/l/n). But do remember that the only thing keeping you safe, for now, is Fox Mulder.” 

You opened your mouth to say something, but he turned around with a puff of grey smoke. You tried to chase him as he left through the door he had come through, but it slammed and locked in your face. All you could do was huff out a harsh sigh as you shook your head and frowned; you had no idea who that cigarette smoking man was, and nor did you have any idea why he so keenly and so obviously wanted you to die, but you didn’t and couldn’t think much of it - after all, Fox had told you time and time again that his constant obsession with uncovering and exposing the truth had made him some enemies in both high and low places, Fox had told you that things were risky, and you had accepted that. But even still, that cigarette smoking man made you feel on edge, he made you feel like you should have bitten him and torn his throat out right then and there, and you could not shake the fact that you were trembling when you sat back down. You began to chew at the inside of your cheek. 

But you had stayed in Skinner’s office for the rest of that day, you had told him about the cigarette smoking man and what had happened, mostly to explain the burn mark on the carpet if anything, and Skinner, as much as he could tell that you were frightened and that you wanted nothing more than to ensure that nobody would come after you, your friends, your family; he tried to reassure you, he tried to make you feel safe and to comfort you. But Skinner could tell you were angry, too. He could tell that your anger was bubbling and boiling beneath the surface, that it was only a matter of time before you snapped. Skinner was scared of your temper, in all honesty, he would have been scared of it even if you weren’t a wolf, he would have been scared of it regardless; because when you got angry, it was as if nothing could calm you down, and Skinner had only ever seen one person in the entire time he had known you that was able to calm you down and to get your temper to die off: John Fitzgerald Byers.

Skinner knew Byers well enough, he first knew him as a friend of Fox Mulder; Byers had worked with the Federal Communications Commission for a while, right up until nineteen eighty-nine, which was when Byers had met two hackers and, well, nerds known as Melvin Frohike and Richard ‘Ringo’ Langly. In eighty-nine, though, Byers and the other two, collectively as a trio known as The Lone Gunmen, had started a newspaper known as… The Lone Gunman; and for the most part, the investigative journalists never really got in the way of the bureau’s investigations, they never got in the way of most of what went on officially - but Fox had brought the Gunmen in on more than one occasion to help with this and that and the other. And Skinner… well, Skinner had seen you go from shy and quiet around Byers, whimpering and whining whenever you spoke, all the way to boldly sitting on his lap whenever he was around, resting your face against his neck as if to protect him, holding him tightly and keeping a vigilant eye on everyone else around. Skinner had seen you make Byers blush so much that he was almost certain that something was going on between the two of you, but he knew that there wasn’t in reality, he knew that nothing was going on between you and Byers the second you looked so sad when the Gunmen had to go across the country for an article and left you behind. Pacing, you were always pacing in the middle of the night. You grumbled so much. Every door that opened made you perk up and stare at it with wide and hopeful eyes, only to slump back into your chair and sigh when Byers didn’t walk through it. But Skinner could picture the way that Byers calmed down your temper so easily, as he had memorised it in order to try and use it for when you were in his office, but it never worked. 

It was gentle, Byers would place one hand at the back of your neck, pulling you in close so that your forehead was against his and you could do nothing but look into his eyes, his other hand resting on your shoulder as he kept you still and steady; you would snarl and try to violently pull away, but Byers’ gentle grip was always enough to keep you focused on his eyes and to start breathing with him, harsh and heavy panting becoming slow and steady sighing. Byers would whisper things to you, Skinner was never quite sure what, he would mutter things that seemingly only you could understand and you could ever hear, something at twenty-five kilohertz if that was even possible, and you would listen. It was as if he was blowing a dog whistle that grabbed your attention but that nobody else could even try and hear. Byers would only let you go once you grabbed his cheeks, though, once you grabbed his cheeks and nodded was the very second that he knew that you were calm enough to let go, but you would always stick to his side for moments afterwards, you would stick to his side and look at him every now and then, as if he was the only thing that would ever keep you calm. And although Skinner tried his best, he could never get that little trick to work, as you would pull away so easily and he would need to wrap both of his arms around you tightly in order to stop you from wrecking the place and causing chaos and havoc and mayhem with your ill temper. No, Skinner could never quite calm you down like Byers could. Then again, Skinner was terrified of your temper, which probably didn’t help. 

He kept looking at the phone on his desk, stealing glances at it and wondering if he should call the Gunmen to ask for their help, he could make up a job for Frohike and Langly to do, get them away from his office for a while and leave you and Byers there so that he could try and calm you down as much as possible; it seemed like a good idea, that was sure, and Skinner did have an inkling of a feeling that you had not seen the Gunmen in a while due to that little family emergency from a short while ago - he couldn’t blame you, and he certainly didn’t or wouldn’t, either. Perhaps it would have been for the best if he did pick the phone up. Perhaps it would have been for the best if he grabbed Fox and Dana, too, and took them out with him along with Frohike and Langly in order to ensure that there would be no disturbances. 

So, Skinner left the phone call for now, deciding to either call the Gunmen up and tell them that they needed to head over to your flat later in the evening or whenever they could, or to just let them know that you were in the process of losing your awful temper. 

“I need a strong fucking drink…” you grumbled, shaking your head as you got up and began to pace around the office. A wolf in a small cage. Pacing, banging against the iron bars. You ran a hand through your hair. “I need a really fucking strong drink right now, Uncle Skinner…” 

“I don’t have anything on me,” Skinner admitted with a sigh, frowning as he watched you pace up and down and up and down the same stretch of his office. He was almost concerned that you would end up pacing a hole in the floor. “Would you sit down?”

“No,” you growled, shaking your head and swaying as you paced. Swaying like a wolf trapped in a small cage. No escape. No way out. Your eyes were starting to burn a wolfish colour, glowing their usual colour but trapped behind that was the wolf’s eyes, and there was no doubting that it would be let loose. “Need… need to drink, or something, anything…” 

“He really did a number on you,” Skinner said with a concern that he tried to hide behind covering his mouth with his hand. He could see it so clearly. He felt awful. Perhaps he should have called the Gunmen, and kept you locked in the cage that his office had become until they had arrived. “(y/n), would you please sit down?”

With a great huff and a long and low and loud grumble, you collapsed into the nearest chair, placing your hands at the side of your head as you let out a whine, a whimper. “He had a fucking silver bullet.” 

“A silver bullet?” Skinner questioned, raising a brow as he leaned back in his chair slightly. A silver bullet was never any good news, a silver bullet was the answer to the question of if violence should occur. It made Skinner clench his jaw as he swallowed thickly. 

“Silver bullet,” you confirmed, looking up at him with a glare and sighing heavily. “You know what silver can do to me, Uncle Skinner.” 

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded, sighing heavily. Shit, this was bad. This was very, very bad. “But I’m sure we can figure something out, I’m sure I can talk to the guys down at the equipment department and see if they have anything that could-”

“A bullet proof vest?” You chuckled bitterly, snorting out a huff of air before you dared to shake your head and to look away. “What if he shoots me in the leg? Or just decides to say fuck it and shoot me point blank between the eyes? That’s what he said, Uncle Skinner, he fucking said that you shoot a rabid dog right between the eyes. Right between the fucking eyes.” 

“I won’t let that happen,” Skinner reassured with a certain kind of gentle sternness, a sweet stoicism that you couldn’t help but to want to believe in. “I can’t make it into an official investigation, and I can’t assign agents to protect you without putting you more at risk, but… we can figure something out, I’ll talk to Scully and Mulder and Doggett and Reyes, we’ll figure something out.” 

“And what about my dad?” You asked with a broken voice. “What if that cigarette smoking cunt decides to go after him? Huh? What the fuck do we do then?”

“He won’t touch your father,” he told you with a shake of his head. “I promise that.” Rubbing his temples, Skinner sat upright in his chair, leaned forward on his desk with his forearms on it and his hands clasped tightly. “Go home, (y/n). Go about your day as if nothing happened, just… try and relax. The Bureau will help you as much as I can let them without making it into an official thing but - go home. Relax. Rest.” 

“Fine,” you muttered, letting out a shaky sigh and getting up, you dared to stretch and to click your muscles before you paced over to the door. “Skinner-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said sternly, yet gently. “Just go home. Play some violent video games and forget about it as much as you can.” 

But even Skinner knew that there were some things that a man just can’t forget, even Skinner knew that sometimes even the smallest of interactions could result in perilous consequences and could never be forgotten although not for a lack of trying; in all honesty, Skinner was not only concerned for you, but he also felt a strong sense of empathetic pity wash over him, as he knew all too well what it was like to live with the threat of knowing that you could executed at any moment without so much as a five second head’s up. Skinner knew all too well what it was like, and he sighed as he watched you leave. 

But then he picked up the phone, and dialled a number that he didn’t know quite so well but was sure he had gotten it right. 

“The Lone Gunmen.” Came the answer after several quiet rings and a click. Of course they were tracing the call. 

“Langly?” Skinner questioned, raising a brow and humming lowly, quietly. 

“Hey, guys, it’s the A.D.!” They called from the other end, followed by two extra clicks. They had him on speaker. “What can we do for the FBI this time?”

“It’s (y/n),” Skinner started, “he’s… there’s something wrong, and he needs you guys to help him. I’m… I’m worried about him.” 

“W- why? What happened?” Byers, panicking as always. “Is he okay? Did something happen to him?”

“Calm down, man,” Langly said gently. “You know what (y/n)’s like.” 

“Yeah, he’s not exactly a pup,” Frohike joked. “So, Skinner, what’s up?”

“He’s fine, for now, he’s fine,” Skinner reassured, although he himself was not convinced of it at all, even if he did try to make it seem as if he believed it more than he believed in anything else in the world. “He’s just scared, and angry. And he needs you guys.”

“Well, shit we better get over there,” Langly said. 

“I’ll transfer you guys some money for fuel,” Skinner told them. “Just… go make sure he’s alright, please?”

“Of course, Assistant Director Skinner,” Byers, polite as ever. “We’ll be sure to let you know how (y/n)’s doing as soon as we can.”


	2. When The Moon Shines Red

Sweating and doing their best not to lose sight of why they were heading to your flat for the night, the Gunmen did their best not to worry much about the fact that they had most of their belongings in one small suitcase, as they did intend to stay the night or for two nights if you would let them do so, they didn’t mind if you said no just as much as they didn’t mind if you said yes and allowed them into your small flat; but as they walked up the seemingly thousands of stairs to get your flat, bags in hand and apologetic looks on their faces, none of them were particularly expecting to see the door open, and you stood in the frame with a grin from ear to ear. Byers realised it, immediately, knowing that your sense of smell was far more superior and that you probably sniffed them out from the second they had parked their van in the car park of the building. But no one else seemed to really catch on until you cleared your throat to rid your voice of the excitement in your bones that bubbled like boiling blood. 

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t my four favourite fools - I could smell you lot coming from a mile away.” 

“Hey, Lassie, little Timmy’s stuck in the well,” Langly was the first to greet you, dropping their bags and patting you on the shoulder, but they were taken back and not really sure what to do with their arms when you hugged them tightly and grumbled lowly, holding them so tightly that they almost couldn’t breathe for a second. “How you doing, man?”

“‘M good,” you muttered, pulling away and ushering them inside, letting them make themselves at home in your flat before you looked at Frohike with a shit-eating grin. “Frohike.” 

“Scooby-Doo,” he teased, letting you hug him for a moment, his arms around your shoulders as you held on tightly for a moment, he was thankful for the hug in all honesty, as it had been all too long since he had seen you, and sometimes, a hug from an old friend was the best thing in the world. “You got any coffee?”

“I got coffee,” you nodded, pulling back and letting him step inside before you looked at Jimmy. But it was you who was caught off guard this time, as he lunged forward to hold you tightly against his chest, strangling you as he practically crushed you. “J- Jimmy! C- can’t breathe!”

“Oh, my God I’m so sorry!” He yelped, letting go of you and jumping back, looking genuinely pained and sorrowful that he had hurt you. 

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” you chuckled, shaking your head and patting his arm gently. “Now c’mon, get inside you great big lummox.” 

“Sure thing, Krypto,” Jimmy grinned, daring to kiss your forehead before he slipped inside and went to make himself at home along with Langly and Frohike. 

And then there was Byers. 

He stood so awkwardly in front of you, biting at his lip as he looked down at the floor and shifted from foot to foot and tried to think of the words to say to you; but words didn’t come to easily, and it seemed that the wolf had caught his tongue as he tried to formulate what he wanted and needed to say, but each time in doing so, would fail. 

Gently, you closed the door behind you as you stepped out into the hallway, clearing your throat as you dared to remain silent, to not so much as whimper as you pressed yourself against Byers, pressing your face to his throat as he swallowed thickly and did his best not to stumble over. But he was frozen to the spot, blushing furiously as his heart pounded in his chest and screamed and howled behind the bars of its boney cage. He let you stay there for a moment, trying to act as if your chair did not tickle his skin in the most wonderful way that made him want to giggle. But then you pulled away. 

“Rin Tin Tin,” Byers whispered softly, the most tender of smiles on his lips, the gentle rumble of a chuckle slipping from the back of his throat when you grinned at him. 

“Hey, Johnny,” you whispered back, nuzzling into his neck again, making him shiver and stiffen and freeze up as he allowed you to stay so close, as he could not dare to even think of pushing you away or ruining the moment by keeping you close to his own body, by holding you tightly. “It’s nice to see you again…” 

“Y- yeah, it’s… it’s good to see you, see you, too,” Byers couldn’t help but to fumble over his words as he dared to wrap an arm around you, if only to keep you from falling backwards, his arm just above your waist as he dared to relax a little, as he dared to let himself revel in the feeling of holding you and to be so close to you after so long. Good lord, Byers had missed you, and he never wanted to let go. “How are you? Is, is everything okay?”

“No,” you admitted, shaking your head and pressing yourself into him that little bit more, nearly toppling him over but not realising that he quickly caught himself by pressing his free hand against the wall to steady himself, hardly stumbling backwards as you let out a quiet whimper. “‘M scared, man, I’m fucking scared…”

“I got you,” he said quietly, leaning his head down slightly so that he could slightly fold against you, his hand going beneath your shirt so that he could stroke your skin beneath it, making you look up at him. “I’m here, Rin Tin Tin, don’t worry.” 

You could only nod, crashing into him an extra little bit, sighing heavily and allowing a whine to come from the back of your throat as you grasped onto him at least, one hand on his chest, the other on his hip as you allowed a shaky breath to escape past your lips. And for a good few moments that was where you stayed, for a good few moments that was how you were content; but eventually, you had to pull away, clearing your throat as you still stayed so close to him that you could feel his breath on your features. 

“C’mon, I have some of that special brand coffee that you like,” you said softly. “You might wanna grab a mug before Frohike drinks it all.” 

“Oh, uh, okay,” Byers smiled, taking a step back and clearing his throat, he eagerly followed you into your flat; Langly had spread out on your sofa and stolen it, their legs hanging over one arm of it, their own arms folded behind their head as they clearly had more than made themselves at home. Frohike had usurped your kitchen, stolen your coffee and was making himself a large mug of it. And Jimmy. Jimmy was just happy to be there, in all honesty, he was just happy to be able to sit back and to relax with his friends for a little while, a short while, and he was more than thankful for that, he was more than thankful for the opportunity to be able to sit back, have a few beers, and sit around with his good friends for a while. 

But as soon as you and Byers walked in, as soon as the door had been gently shut behind him and quietly locked, as soon as you and the Gunmen were truly alone, they all immediately shifted about and fidgeted and moved around so that you had somewhere to sit; Langly was now sat on the floor, cross legged, while Frohike and Jimmy took up the majority of the sofa, leaving you and Byers to bicker over who would steal the final section of the sofa. 

“I can sit on the arm,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes and deciding enough was enough as you gently pushed him back so that he was finally sat down, you sat beside him on the arm of the sofa, one of your legs squashed between his and the leather fabric. “See? Not so hard, Johnny.” 

“Whatever you say, (Y/n),” Byers tried to sound annoyed, but when he looked up at you, all you could see was amusement in his cobalt eyes. All you could see was a beautiful cyan that made you unable to do anything except to smile back and shrug. 

“Oh, please, you love me, really,” you teased, poking your tongue out at him. 

“Oh, please, I really wish you two would get a room,” Frohike grumbled as he rolled his eyes, taking a swig from his coffee as he sighed and shook his head. He looked between you and Byers with a slight playful mischievousness behind his eyes that made you tilt your head, wondering what he had planned, what was going through his mind and what exactly the ideas behind his eyes were.

“Shove off, toad-man,” you playfully snarled, raising your brows as you looked at him, although you did lean over slightly so that you could lean against Byers’ back, tilting your head to the side so that you could press your temple to the back of his neck. 

He didn’t mind at all, in fact, in an odd sort of way, Byers actually found it to be quite comfortable - although he did know that he would not be able to stay in such a position for very long. Just by the way that his neck was beginning to ache in protest, Byers knew that he would not have been able to stay in that position for very long, even though he very much would have liked to; as much as he would have loved to have stayed there, letting you practically use him as a leaning post, something to lounge on, he would have very much stayed there for forever and a day to let you lean on him. He remembered when you first did it, when you first leaned on him and when you first pressed yourself into him, he had been so scared, he had frozen up like a statue, wide eyed and unsure of who to turn to, looking at his colleagues and at Fox Mulder, really genuinely not sure what to do; but then he was told that it was normal, for you, he had been pulled aside by Agent Mulder, who explained to him that it was normal for you to be a bit more physical when you really liked someone. Fox himself had even had trouble adjusting to it at first, but he grew used to it; he grew used to the way that you would push him a little bit or how you would lie across his body so that you could put your throat on his. Fox grew used to it after a while, and so did Byers. He got so used to it that, in the days where he was around you and you didn’t do it, it made him grow concerned, worried, scared all over again; he would go through the motions of thinking he had done something wrong or that he had upset you in some way, somehow. He would think that there was something that had happened to you that you weren’t going to talk about, and oh Lord, how that made his anxiety swell in his mind and take over his skull like a thick curtain drawn to keep the light of golden hour out. 

There was one thing stuck in his mind, though, as he sat with his three best friends, letting you use him as a leaning post; why him? 

Arguably, Jimmy was much more attractive. Arguably, Frohike would have been easier to cuddle into. Arguably, Langly, as lanky as they were, would have been easier to lean against. So why were you so keen on Byers? It made no sense to him as he looked between his friends to try and figure out why you were leaning against him and why you would press yourself against his throat whenever you could, as if protecting it from some unseen threat, as if you were telling everyone around that you would protect his life with your own and not even think twice about it. But why him? Why were you so keen on Byers?

Deciding not to think too much on it, Byers sighed as he shook his head at you. “Can you two play nice, please?”

“We are playing nice,” you whined, the sound causing the vibrations from your chest to echo through his skin, making him shiver and push it aside. “Right, Frohike?”

“Right, Balto,” Frohike flashed you a smile, one that told you that he was far from over teasing you. “We always play nice, Byers.” 

“Yeah, c’mon,” you grumbled, pulling yourself back reluctantly, hesitantly, slowly, your lips ghosting along his skin and making him have to bite his lip to stop himself from begging for just one kiss. It seemed as if eternity had passed by the time you switched to sitting in his lap, pressing the top of your head against the underside of his chin as he swallowed thickly and gingerly, fingers trembling, wrapped an arm around your middle to keep you from slipping or falling. Your shoulder was pressed into his chest but he didn’t mind as he leaned back, taking you with him as he leaned into the soft fabric cushions of your sofa. But then you chuckled, and Byers could have sworn he was about to fall apart. “You know I always play nice.”

Something about the way you had said that, something about the little growl in your voice and the way you so obviously smiled, smirking really, something about the way you shifted to snuggle into him that little bit more; Byers knew he was going to fall apart before the end of the night, he knew that you were going to break him down and that he would never know himself to be shattered like glass so easily and so beautifully than he would be when he was shattered by you. He would never be so happy to be broken and smashed into pieces than he was when it was you wielding the hammer. 

“I bet you wouldn’t want Byers to play nice, though,” Langly teased, chuckling loudly when you grabbed a cushion and threw it right at them, a howl of laughter escaping your throat. 

“You can go fuck yourself, mate,” you laughed, shaking your head. But just before you dared to snuggle back into him, you took a look at Byers, and raised a brow. Why was he blushing? He smelled different, too, he smelled good, you wouldn’t deny that, but it was different; it hit you like a shotgun blast to your nose, but you liked it; sure, he smelled different, and you didn’t know why his scent had changed, but you definitely didn’t mind it as you cosied up to him again, trying to get as close as possible as you dared to sniff him, moving and fidgeting so that you could mutter something to him and him alone. “This is gonna sound real weird, John, but you smell really fucking good.” 

He didn’t think it was weird. Byers had been told long ago that werewolves had a far superior sense of smell, and he was actually quite flattered if he was honest; he knew how overwhelmed your senses could get, and how easily they could go from nothing than just sight, taste, smell, touch and hearing, to being five different hammers breaking your bones at once. He knew how easily you could get overwhelmed when it came to your senses, so no, he didn’t think it was weird at all. And he couldn’t help the fact that the blush on his features had turned into an even deeper red, either. 

But just as he was about to reassure you that he was, indeed, very honestly flattered by the comment, Jimmy spoke up. 

“Hey, guys, uh, why don’t I go and get us some food? I think I walked past a chip shop not far from here and, y’know, could be a treat, right?”

“So long as there’s no chocolate,” Frohike joked as he pointed at you. But he soon stood up, nodding at you as if he knew something that no one else did. He turned to Jimmy. “C’mon, I’ll go with you.” 

“I better go, too,” Langly said, noticing that Frohike was trying to get out and knowing exactly what that meant. They clicked their back before they smiled at you with a shrug. “Someone has to make sure they don’t get in trouble, right?”

“Y’all know where you’re going?” You asked, looking at the trio. 

“We’ll find our way,” Frohike promised, ushering Langly and Jimmy out of the door. He closed it behind him tightly, as if to prove a point. 

“We’re all alone,” you chuckled nervously, ashamed to admit that being alone with Byers was something that made your anxiety take over and to make you feel as if you were a powder keg that would spark when he was near, like you would explode and hurt everyone around you if he got too close. You swallowed thickly, getting off of his lap and moving into the little kitchen area; you looked out of the window as you lit up a cigarette and hung your head. “You fucking idiot, (y/n)...”

Still somewhat stunned by how much you had flattered him, Byers wasn’t exactly sure what he had done wrong to make you move away from him, but when he saw you smoking in the kitchen, he supposed that he didn’t - maybe you just wanted a cigarette. He still sought out an excuse to be close to you again, though, and decided that his best bet was to act as if he wanted a cup of coffee. The moon shining through the window, the one you were so fixated on whilst you smoked, caught his attention. 

At the bottom, the moon was more sort of a yellow-y orange, pale and soft like the pastel colours of a watercolour painting, calming; at the top, it was dark red and brown, dark and coarse like the bristling of a wolf’s hackles; he could see that it was a full moon, which made him swallow thickly as he looked at you with concern for a moment. When the moon shines red and full, there’s no help but to feel a little anxious about it. If anything, he was more concerned with your welfare, your safety, your health. If anything at all, his anxiety was only high when he saw how the moon was shining red was because… well, it was because he knew how painful transformations and shifts could be, Mulder had told him that. Byers knew they could be painful, that they could feel like you were being torn into two like some sort of Jekyll and Hyde, and he worried about it; he worried because he never wanted you to be in any pain. Good lord, even thinking about you getting hurt or attacked, even killed, because you had shifted was something that made him shake and tremble as he stood beside you, leaning against the counter with his arms folded as he waited for the kettle to boil. 

“I, uh, I just… just wanted to say that, uh, it didn’t, it didn’t sound weird earlier,” Byers managed to say, smiling a little when you leaned into him, when you crushed your shoulder against him and practically leaned against him once more. “It was very flattering, actually… so, uh, th- thank you.” 

You smiled to yourself as you took a drag from your cigarette, not missing how his breath hitched and how he tried to hide his disgust at the carcinogenic burning stick, thousands of harmful chemicals wrapped up in paper and with a filter that did almost nothing. “You’re, uh, you’re welcome…” 

“And, uh, I’m not, not sure how to say this, but… it’s a full moon, and if you’re worried about-” 

“I’m not,” you said quickly, but your voice held a certain tender curiosity within it that was painfully obvious even from just two words; it was easy to think that perhaps you were simply telling him that you loved him, perhaps it was easy to assume that you had just told him how much he had meant to you. “It means a lot that you’re willing to… y’know, help… but I’m not shifting just because of a full blood moon, so… don’t worry.” 

“I always worry,” Byers whispered, looking at you with the same tender curiosity that was within your voice, his arctic eyes filled with nothing but that tender curiosity, as if he was somehow trying to tell you that he felt a lot more deeply for you than he had ever felt for another man, as if he was trying to tell you that he cared for you more than he probably should have, and that his care and his concern and his feelings weren’t just friendship, but rather, that they were the byproduct of something else, something that had seeped into his heart and refused to come out of it again. “You know I always worry about you…”

“I appreciate it, I really do,” you grumbled, putting out your cigarette and throwing it into the bin before you huffed and bit at the inside of your lip. “You know I appreciate it more than anything, Johnny, but…”

“(y/n),” he leaned into you, balancing the way you leaned into him, his arm daring to sneak around your middle, laying between your hip and your ribs as he swallowed thickly. He had chills from the feeling of having you close. He didn’t want to lose control and tell you what he was feeling. But good grief, it was hard when you seemed so keen on him, when you seemed as if you wanted nothing more than to always be with him and to be held by him. It didn’t help when he thought about the things you did with him that you didn’t dare to do with others. “I… it feels wrong not to tell you, but…”

“Skinner sent you,” you said before he could say anything else, before he could allow himself to break. “I know. I know he did… probably to do with my little stunt earlier, right?”

“Right,” Byers nodded, swallowing thickly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrugged, shaking your head as you dared to shoot a smile his way. He could look at your smile for years and years and never love it any less. “It gives me an excuse to spend some time with you and the guys - I’m counting it as a fucking miracle, if anything…”

Shifting so that he was slightly more comfortable, Byers kept a tight but gentle grip on you, revelling in the way that you grumbled and snuggled into him, freezing up and growing stiff in his posture when you slipped your hand into his back pocket. But he soon relaxed, letting himself be silent with you, letting himself be content for a moment or two. Letting himself be close to you without worry or fear. Everything else could wait. Everything else could fall silent for a moment. 

But outside of a local hotel, something was brewing. 

Outside of a local hotel, parked in a plain black range rover that was perfectly polished and perfectly painted, sat a man smoking a cigarette, and beside him in the passenger seat was another man, younger, not smoking but cleaning a gun; he could have easily passed as the other man’s son beneath the dim lights of the car park’s faulty LEDs that flashed and flickered as if communicating in Morse code. With the exception of the other man in the dull blue volkswagen beetle at the other end of the car park, ‘Bring Me To Life’ by Evanescence playing so loud that the other two men could hear it and smoking a blunt, head-banging along to the song with tears augmenting in his eyes and a passion in the way he lip synced along to the car, showing that he had a can of something alcoholic in his other hand, there was no one else around, and the man in the beetle would probably never have even guessed they were there in the first place. The man smoking the cigarette didn’t seem too worried about it, anyways, so the younger man didn’t say anything. 

“You’re to stay away from (y/n),” the older man said coldly, as if it was an order that he had expected to be obeyed and obediently, too. It was an order that left no room for argument. No sign of hope. No crumb of disagreement or protest. “No matter what happens, you are not to go near him - is that understood?”

“Yes,” the younger man nodded, and when he reached up to run a hand through his hair, it exposed a badge with a name on it. A badge that was clearly used by FBI staff to identify themselves in the J. Edgar Hoover building. The name read Krycek, his surname, but his first name was obscured by the dark grey fabric of his trousers. “Of course… but why?”

“That’s classified,” replied the cigarette smoking man, “it’s on a need to know basis. Just stay away from him.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Krycek grumbled, although he knew that he was going to disobey this order, that he was going to be disobedient this once. If he killed you, if he managed to take away your life, then maybe the cigarette man would favour him at last, maybe he would get the attention and the respect he so desperately craved from the older man. Besides, how hard would it be? All he would have to do would be to find out who you were, where you lived, and the best way to get you alone and vulnerable. Krycek would need to do some work before he could get you somewhere, before he could chop you down and hunt you like a dog, but he didn’t really mind that, so long as your death would benefit him, so long as it would mean that your blood on his hands would get him attention and respect. He knew that the cigarette smoking man wanted you dead, he knew that he wanted you out of the problem as soon as possible, but he also knew that you were protected thanks to your connections with Fox Mulder - but honestly? What was stopping anybody? Who cared if your death would result in Fox Mulder going a little bit down the drain and obsessing over it? Almost certainly, in fact, entirely, Krycek did not care a single bit. And as he finished cleaning his gun, he couldn’t help but to smile a little. “Of course I’ll stay away from him, Sir.” 

“Good,” the cigarette smoking man took a final drag from the last Morley in his packet, and tossed it out of the car’s window. He turned to Krycek. “Go get me some cigarettes. You know which brand.” 

“Of course.” Krycek nodded, putting the gun away and opening the passenger door. He waited, but no money was forced into his hand, leaving him to nod and to scamper away to the nearest corner shop so that he could get some cigarettes for the older man. 

But once he had obtained them and he had given them to the cigarette smoking man, Krycek was left alone in the car park, having been abandoned by his mentor for the time being, which made him smile a little as he moved over to the edge of the car park and looked out amongst the glittering champagne lights that came from flats and offices alike. Night clubs pounded and thudded with music as if they were about to jump off of the ground at any given moment. People that had more alcohol in their bodies than common sense stumbled out of pubs and swayed as they staggered down the street, singing ‘Chelsea Dagger’ off-key and as loudly as possible, hanging onto one another with half-empty beer bottles in hand. People lined up inside kebab shops and chip shops and take away shops, some of them singing random songs that they hardly knew the lyrics to and were too drunk to remember, some of them simply wanting to get something to eat. From the offices, people wandered out of the front doors of each building, shaking their heads at the people singing with one another in public, giving them looks of disgust as they hurried into the front entrance of the car park. Looking at the other end of the level he was on, Krycek looked over at the beetle that was still parked there, this time blasting out ‘The Captain’ by a Scottish band called Biffy Clyro. The man in the small car tilted his head back as he sang loudly, clearly, it was obvious to see that he very clearly had a passion for the song. The man lit up another blunt, and as Krycek decided to walk past him, he grinned, and popped his head out of the window. 

“Let’s love death away!” He sang, full of intoxication from the weed that made his eyes red and smelling as if he had been rolling around in weed for years. The clipper lights that littered the dashboard were much more easily seen, now, as was the little bobble-head of Bruce Springsteen that shook with how loud the music was. “Let’s love death away! Let’s love death away! Let’s love death away!”

Krycek rolled his eyes, shaking his head and giving the man a look of disgust, although he did have to admit, the man was certainly his type looks-wise; but Krycek knew he could do much better than that, and that he always would, so he simply gave the other man a disgusted look, wincing a little when the stench of weed burned his eyes and singed the hairs on the inside of his nose. He continued walking, shaking his head and thinking about how easy it would be to take you down. You were a friend of Fox Mulder’s, for a start, and Krycek knew that personal attachments made any person weak and vulnerable, he could easily just say that you had to choose between your life and Mulder’s - but what would be the fun in that? Being a friend of Mulder did also mean that you were probably friends with the Lone Gunmen, too, though - and that would be a way more fun game to play than any old typical, predictable, uncreative method that he had previously used before. Oh, yes, without a doubt that would be far more fun, especially if you happened to have feelings for one of them, especially if Krycek managed to find out which one you were particularly attached to; not to mention, going for the Gunmen route also meant that Krycek wouldn’t need to try and get Mulder and Scully out of the way, either, he could do it without them knowing until it was far too late. Heading up to the top level of the car park, Krycek found somewhere to sit, a little ledge that was tucked out of the way of the view of security cameras and other people alike, he made himself comfortable, and looked up at the bright red moon. It was like looking at a pool of crimson bloodshed. It was cold. He could feel the moon’s own light on his face as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back to try and savour it, savour the way that moonlight felt on his features and how he soaked in it. He really did hope that the Gunmen knew what was coming for them, just as he had hoped that you knew, he hoped that you were all scared and huddled up together, he hoped that you were all paranoid and making sure that every little shadow wasn’t him. He wanted to smell fear. He wanted to hear hearts racing. He wanted to smile as he did what no one else was brave enough to do. He wanted to kill you, and he got it into his mind that he would not stop until the deed was done. Krycek would stop at nothing to force your hand. And it wasn’t as if it would be hard, you were just a man, you were made of the same flesh and bone that he was, save for his prosthetic, you were made of the same blood and veins and arteries, it wouldn’t be hurt to put you down and to get you out of the way. Like any other man, you would do what your heart told you before your head would even be able to think of a counterargument, and if Krycek could get to that, he knew that it would be oh so terrible evil to hunt you down. Kill you. Slaughter you like a feral wolf that had come too close to humans and had infringed on their happy little suburban lives. And like a trophy hunter, Krycek would take great pleasure in watching you die as slowly and as painfully as he could. Oh yes, he was going to enjoy this one, without a doubt, and he was going to make every single second count and hurt. 

But back at your flat, you and the Gunmen were crowded around the coffee table on the floor, eating greasy and gross takeaway that made your fingers slick and your stomach grumble with the heaviness of the meal. It was easy to see who was the most wolfish amongst the pack, as before anyone had gotten halfway through their own meals, you were finished with yours, and sat back contently with a smile, curry sauce stuck to the corners of your lips and staining the bottom one, and it didn’t take Byers long to notice. He shook his head, tutting at you for a moment before licking the pad of his thumb and shifting so that he was knelt facing you. 

“What?” You raised a brow, tilting your head to the side. 

“You, uh, you have some sauce stuck to your lip,” he told you gently. “May I?”

“Go for it,” you chuckled, although you couldn’t help but to freeze up and stiffen when he gently cupped your jaw with the other hand, holding you in place so softly yet so securely that you couldn’t help but to lean into the touch until he gently scrubbed the sauce away from your mouth with his thumb. You nearly howled when he licked it off of his own skin, but you swallowed it thickly and smiled. “Am I clean now?”

“You’re clean, now,” Byers nodded, although he did not let go, staring into your eyes as he let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you were so close. If he just leaned in a little bit more-

“Byers, buddy, you gonna eat that?” Frohike asked, pointing to the last few onion rings that sat in the orange polystyrene container. 

Suddenly and without warning or hesitation, Byers practically jumped away from you, clearing his throat and shooting you a sad and apologetic look before he turned to his friend, clearing his throat yet again as he struggled to find the words. “Y- you have them, Frohike.” 

“Thanks,” Frohike smiled, eagerly taking the container and pulling it to his side of the coffee table. Had they not been eating, there was no doubt in your mind that Frohike and Langly would have made a comment or two about what they had just witnessed. But Frohike took charge of the conversation once he had finished eating, the second to finish after you. “We were talking while we were out - we thought we’d swing by the office tomorrow and pick up a few things.” 

“Yeah, I forgot my earphones,” Langly admitted with a mouthful of rice. 

“I forgot my football…” Jimmy frowned, looking a little upset as he looked at his friends before looking at you with a smile. “But we’ll go get it all tomorrow, and then we’ll be back in time for dinner!”

“That sounds like a plan,” you agreed, looking at Byers. “You okay with that?”

“Uh, yeah,” Byers nodded at you before turning to his associates. “I think we should also stop and get some more fuel, I noticed earlier that the van was running low and our canisters were almost empty.” 

“I can give you the cash for that,” you told him softly. “After all, you guys came here to see me, the least I could do is pay for your fuel, right?” 

“That-”

“You-” 

“Don’t-” 

“You don’t have to,” Jimmy told you with a smile. “You’re our friend, (y/n), you don’t owe us anything - right guys?”

“Yeah,” Langly agreed, pushing their container aside and rolling their eyes when you, having picked the habit up off of Byers, placed it inside of your empty one. “You’re our friend, Clifford.” 

“Our one and only Marmaduke,” Frohike joked, making you laugh as he dared to slide his own takeaway container over to you. 

“Our favourite Old Yeller!” Jimmy grinned, but when the rest of the Gunmen glared at him, he slumped where he was sat, slouching and looking down at the floor. “Oh, right… they shoot the dog…” 

“Don’t worry, Jimmy,” you hummed, patting his shoulder gently as you offered a reassuring smile, although you had to admit, you did want to laugh a little bit. “They give me the same look all the time - especially when I say that JFK was a cunt.” 

“(y/n)!” Byers yelped, eyes wide and jaw slack, his mouth wide open as he stared at you. 

“Yes, dear?” You leaned back enough so that your head was on his lap, letting you look up at him with a cheeky and wolfish grin that made him blush just a little too much. 

“Don’t call JFK the c-word,” he whined, nearly whimpering. “Please?”

“Fine,” you whimpered, sitting upright again and huffing, although you could not keep the smile from your face. “So, my four favourite fools, we’ve got fuck all to do for the rest of the night, so… wanna watch a film?”

“Sure,” they all agreed at once. For more than a few moments, you all debated on what to watch, Byers being outvoted each time he suggested something, Jimmy, too, which meant that it was down to you and Frohike and Langly to decide, which took a lot longer than it should have been. Byers helped you to clear the coffee table and to reset it with various snacks while the Gunmen got changed into their pyjamas, he helped to grab a few extra blankets for the Gunmen, too, and he allowed you to snuggle into his side when you finally kicked back and relaxed on the sofa together. Although Langly was sat on the floor with Jimmy, and they were soon joined by Frohike when he realised that you were going to eat all of the Wotsit crisps that sat in a bowl on the coffee table and that sitting on the floor meant that he would at least get a chance to steal some. 

‘The Wolfman’, an old horror film from nineteen-forty-one, was what you had settled on, which seemed fitting considering the fact that the Gunmen were staying with one for the night. Byers didn’t at all mind when you cuddled into him, stealing his blanket partly as you rested your head on his shoulder, one arm around his back, your hand finding its way to his, holding on tightly but not painfully so; he tilted his head so that it was against yours, and he wrapped his arm around your shoulders to keep you close. Byers quite liked being so close to you, he didn’t mind the fact that every now and then you would shift about and wriggle to get comfortable, it made him smile as he dared to let himself loose a little; he hardly concentrated on the film, losing himself in the feeling of having you so close to his body, losing himself to wondering why you had chosen him to cuddle into and not someone else - you and Frohike were after the same snacks, that would have made sense if you had decided to cuddle him. Jimmy was tall and warm to the touch, that would have made sense if you had decided to cuddle him. Langly was lanky and quite often sat with their legs spread, a perfect place to sit, so that would have made sense if you had decided to cuddle them. So why were you currently snuggled into Byers’ side and grumbling whenever he asked if you were still watching? Why did you protest with a soft whine when he made the slightest little move that made you think he was moving away? Why were you so relaxed around him that you decided to choose him as your cuddling partner even though his friends would have been much better and would have made so much more sense? Why did you choose Byers? When the film finished, though, and the light of the full blood moon was still shining through the closed curtains, Byers was yanked from his constant wondering. 

“Hey, man, we’re gonna set up for the night,” Frohike whispered. “Do you think you can wake Ace the Wonder Dog up?”

Byers looked at you, noticing how you were sound asleep at last as he dared to shake his head, looking up at Frohike. “I… he’s so peaceful, Frohike.” 

“I know,” Frohike nodded with genuine and sincere remorse. “I don’t mean to be cruel, but if we’re sleeping on the floor, then I think it’s best (y/n) goes to bed - I don’t want him to get woken up in the middle of the night because one of us needed to use the toilet or wanted a drink.” 

“Alright,” Byers frowned, trying to steel his nerves as he dared to gently nudge you, making you only snuggle into him further as a whine left your throat. He gently nudged you again, his voice sweet but pained. “Hey, Rin Tin Tin, it’s time for bed.” 

That seemed to do the trick as you pushed yourself back and smacked your lips together, cursed by a dry mouth as you sighed heavily and let out a yawn that made you stretch your mouth so wide that Byers almost thought you would dislocate your jaw like a snake; but then you stretched, nodding, and you stood up. “Cig… smoke…” 

The Gunmen shared a look, watching as you fought through the stages of waking up whilst making your way to the kitchen; you grabbed a cigarette, leaning against the counter as you smoked it. Frowning, Byers made the move to go over to you, standing beside you with his hand between your shoulder blades, wrecked by guilt as he licked his lips. “I, uh, I didn’t mean to wake you up so rudely, Rin Tin Tin, I really didn’t, and I am so so sorry that-”

“John,” you chuckled, shaking your head as you met his gaze. “It’s fine, honestly. If you didn’t wake me up, I probably would’ve slept on the sofa and ended up waking everyone up in the middle of the night - trust me, it’s okay… I’m actually grateful just-” you let out another yawn before taking a drag from your cigarette. “Groggy as fuck.” 

“Okay,” Byers nodded, staying there beside you as you smoked your cigarette, helping the other Gunmen to figure out where the best place on your floor would be to camp out for the night; but once your cigarette was out, you swallowed thickly, and looked Byers up and down. “Are you okay?”

“Can, uh, can you sleep with me tonight?” You asked quietly, softly, embarrassed to ask the question if you were honest. “I mean, uh, can you, y’know… share my bed with me? I don’t… as much as the presence of you and the other guys genuinely soothes me, John-” 

“No, I get it,” he told you honestly, sympathetic as he smiled sadly. “Of course I can.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered, turning on your heel and heading to your bedroom, but Byers stopped outside, clearing his throat and looking down at the floor. “Johnny, I’ve gotten undressed in front of you before, it’s fine.” 

“I’m… I’m not looking…” although he was when you took your shirt off, a deep blush settling in on his features as you wriggled out of your layers of clothing until you were just wearing your boxers. 

You turned back to look at him, and there was that scent again, the one you had caught a whiff of earlier, the scent that was slightly sweeter and yet a lot more distinct than his natural scent, you tilted your head. “Do you, uh, I mean, uh, I can… I can put on a pair of joggers and a hoodie if-” 

“No! No, it’s okay, uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling awkwardly and looking anywhere but at you because he knew that he would break if he did. He was so close to breaking. You were hammering away at the glass with a small sledgehammer, chipping it away bit by bit as he broke and tried to keep himself together all at once. “It’s okay, Rin Tin Tin.”

“Promise?” You asked with a raised brow, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you gazed at him with a slight frown. The last thing you would ever want was to make him even the slightest bit uncomfortable, and you would do anything that he asked to ensure his comfort came above all else. You waited for him to promise before you clambered into your bed and waited for him to go into the bathroom to get changed, thankful when he turned the bedroom light off and gently closed the door. He made his way over to you in the darkness, holding out his hands to feel around until he finally got to the bed, lifting up the duvet he dared to slide in beside you, sighing heavily as he swallowed thickly and laid on his back. You started off lying on your front, snuggled into your pillows with one leg kicked out so that it was laying on his. Then you moved a little closer. Then closer again, your arm finding its way to his chest. Byers couldn’t help but to think how adorable it was, as each time you moved over, you grew closer to him; you grew closer and closer until you were literally laid on top of him, your face buried against his neck as you laid your hands on his chest, your legs somehow tangling with his like earphones in a pocket, your breathing was gentle as you snored softly, and although he did freeze up and feel himself grow nervous at first, it didn’t take Byers long to put his arms around you, one on the small of your back, the other between your shoulder blades as he finally allowed himself to rest, as he finally allowed himself to get lose in the melody of your snoring and breathing, the occasional huffs and puffs and snorts and grumbles that made him hold back a laugh. He dared to close his eyes, satisfied that you were comfortable and that you could sleep soundly and wake him if you needed to or if you wanted to, able to relax as he held you so tightly and allowed himself to revel in the sensation. He could have really gotten used to that, he could have gotten used to the feeling of you in his arms, he could have gotten used to falling asleep holding you, he could have gotten used to feeling your breath on his skin, he could have gotten used to all of that and more, and he would have happily gotten used to it, too, although he very much knew that he would never be able to. The full blood moon outside still shone orange through the curtains throughout the night, as if kissing the world so gently and so sweetly, as if bidding the world a very good night. A pleasant night. A sweet night. 

But the morning was not so kind, the morning was harsh and angry and hot, the morning was disgustingly bright and yanked Byers out of sleep so forcefully that he nearly forgot that you were on top of him, and by the looks of things, you had not moved around or fidgeted throughout the night, still in the exact same position you had fallen asleep in, which made him smile fondly as he relaxed into the pillows; he turned his head to look at the clock. Five thirty-four in the morning. He didn’t want to wake you, he still felt bad for getting you up so that you could go to bed, you didn’t need to be woken up uat such an early hour of the morning, and Byers didn’t have the heart to even think of moving you off of him and pushing you aside. So, he laid there, he laid there staring up at the ceiling and thinking about how nice it would have been to be able to make up in a marital bed with you, the only worry in the world being who would make breakfast and who would make coffee, he thought about how nice it would have been to eat breakfast at the table together while he read the paper and you stole the word search section to scribble the answers down. He thought about the goodbye kisses before he went to work at the office, the ones where you would stop him at the door and tell him he forgot something only to grab him and kiss him and wish him luck. He thought about the hello kisses when he could come home from the office, the ones where he would be the one to pull you close and to kiss you, not daring to say a word until you broke away. He thought about the goodnight kisses when he was in bed with you, rubbing his nose against yours for a moment before stealing a quick kiss as he held you tight and close to his body. He thought about the good morning kisses when he woke up to mornings just like this, mornings where he was holding you and you were sleeping soundly with him, he thought about good morning kisses where he could wake you up with a soft and slow and somewhat sloppy kiss and tell you he loved you so that it was the very first thing you would hear in the mornings. Oh, what Byers would give to live every morning and every night with you in a suburban paradise. But he knew that that would never happen. He knew it would be impossible. And he frowned, and he shook his head. 

“Why the sour look?” You muttered, wriggling down his body just enough so that you could lean your chin on his chest as you looked up into those cerulean eyes that rendered you so weak, so utterly and amazingly weak. Your voice was hoarse, though, clogged with sleep and muffled by it, your eyes still slightly hazy with grogginess. Byers thought you were as handsome as ever as he looked down at you and sighed. “D’you have a dream that you were dead or-” you let out a loud yawn that he couldn’t help but to smile at. “Or some bullshit?”

“No,” Byers answered gently as he shook his head. “No, uh, I was…” just thinking about how much he would have loved the white picket fence life with you before getting violently reminded that it would never happen and that that dream would never come true. “Just thinking was all.” 

You nodded slowly, shifting about so that you could press your face into his neck again, sighing heavily, not realising how it tickled as you grumbled. “I don’t wanna get out of bed…” 

“You don’t have to,” he said gently, swallowing thickly and letting out a breath that had almost choked him when it hitched in his throat and stabbed at the walls of his esophagus like a chunk of food. “You, uh, you can stay in bed if you want to, (y/n).” 

“Jimmy, you can’t put metal in the microwave!” Came Langly’s voice from the kitchen, making you chuckle as you looked up at Byers with a raised brow. 

“I think I do,” you laughed softly, sucking in a harsh breath before reluctantly peeling away from him, hesitant to leave the bed as you moved over to your side of it and sat at the edge for a moment. “I, uh… if you wanna take a shower, you can, the towels are in the cupboard, but uh… don’t use the flea shampoo.” 

“I won’t,” Byers said quietly as he dared to leave the room, pausing at the doorway as he cleared his throat, his hand resting on the cold metal handle. “Rin Tin Tin?”

You looked over at him with your brows raised and an expectant look on your face. “Yeah, Johnny?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked softly. 

You could only lie as you nodded. “Yeah, no, I’m good… honestly, I’m always fucking fine, ain’t I?”

“Yeah,” Byers whispered sadly. “But you know, if you want to talk, I’m always here.” 

“‘Course,” you nodded, letting him leave the room as you held your head in your hands; haunted by that silver bullet held by that cigarette smoking man as you groaned quietly, shaking your head. The question that the cigarette smoking man had asked you played in your head as clear and as loud and as awful as when he had asked it of you. 

“Mister (y/l/n), when a dog goes rabid, what do you do with it?”

“You shoot it, right between the eyes,” you murmured, repeating and echoing the words that had been spoken to you. The silver bullet flashed right through your mind again, and you couldn’t help but to feel breathless, but to feel like you were living on borrowed time. Fuck. Quickly and harshly, you shook your head in an attempt to get rid of it like a bug on your skin before you dared to stand up and to get dressed and ready for the day. When you walked into the main part of your flat, heading over to your little kitchen, you smiled at the Gunmen. “Did you lot all sleep alright?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever slept on a floor so comfortable,” Frohike told you with a smile. 

“Yeah, I think this is the first time in years I’ve actually woken up without back pain,” Langly added with a nod. 

“It was really comfortable,” Jimmy told you with a soft expression, the sincerity in his eyes shining through. “Thanks for having us, man.” 

“Oh, it was my pleasure,” you shrugged, rubbing the back of your neck as your eyes drifted to Byers. He was reading the morning paper, hunched over your kitchen counter as two cups of coffee in front of him, and from the smell alone, you could tell which one was yours. But you could only whisper as you grabbed it. “Thank you.” 

“Anything for you,” Byers said, and although he knew you wouldn’t pick up on it, he had meant it more than anything and everything in the world; he would have climbed any mountain, he would have fought the ocean for you, he would have tried to stop hurricanes and hailstorms for you, he would have tried to trap lightning in a bottle for you. He would have done anything for you, without so much as a second thought. 

“How did you sleep, Byers?” Frohike asked with a smirk, turning to his friend with an expectant expression, raised brows and a focused gaze. 

Swallowing thickly, Byers shrugged, daring to let his gaze wander to you as he smiled softly and tried not to blush a little bit. “I slept just fine.” 

“Hey, thanks for being quiet last night,” Frohike chuckled, patting your arm as he passed you by to sit on your sofa, making you roll your eyes as you dared to look over at him. 

“Y’know, werewolves can get quite territorial,” you began, although all four of the Gunmen could tell that you were only playing, “it isn’t wise to piss one off while you’re in his territory, Frohike.” 

“Oh, please,” he laughed, playing along with you. “We all know Byers here is the Werewolf Whisperer when it comes to pissing you off.” 

“You’re such a twat, mate,” you laughed, grinning at him for a moment before rolling your eyes and trying your best not to guffaw as you tried to take a sip from your coffee. 

“You love me for it, though!” Frohike called over, making you nearly choke on your coffee as you did your best not to laugh too hard that it would cause you to cough and splutter. 

“So, did I hear Jimmy try to put metal in the microwave?” You chuckled, looking between Jimmy and Byers and Langly while Frohike drank his coffee on your sofa and busied himself with something on his computer that you were far from certain what he was doing but also far too much of a coward to actually ask him; you knew that your skills weren’t with computers, not on their level, so you figured it best to let sleeping dogs lie. 

“Yeah,” Langly admitted, shaking their head. “James Bond here thought it would be a good idea to microwave his breakfast burrito in the foil.” 

“Oh, Jimmy,” you and Byers said at the same time, looking over to the youngest member of the Gunmen with disapproving but endearing looks. 

“I didn’t know…” Jimmy said with a shrug. “I’m sorry…” 

“Can’t fault you for something you didn’t know,” you told him softly, patting his shoulder and gently headbutting his arm. “Don’t worry, you’re an alright guy, Jimmy, we still love you.” 

“We should get going,” Langly grumbled, not used to being up so early and not particularly wanting to move but knowing that there were things to be done and seen to. “If we wanna miss traffic, that is.” 

“Oh, good grief,” Byers looked at the clock on the wall before turning to you with an apologetic glare, cyan eyes full of apologies. “We should get going, I mean-” 

“Johnny,” you scoffed, grinning at him. “You don’t need to fuck about - you guys know you’re more than welcome to come and go as you please,” you grabbed your wallet and pulled out a couple of twenty pound notes, you pressed them into Byers’ hand as you said, “fuel money. And also for whatever else you guys might need. Alright?” 

“Thank you,” he said gently, giving your hand a little squeeze before pulling away. “We’ll be back, soon.” 

Being back soon had evidently turned out to be somewhat of a lie, as when the Gunmen had gotten back to their office after about an hour of being stuck in traffic, they had been denied access due to there being a rat problem that had been contained to their office and a couple of neighbouring buildings, meaning that for the next week or so, the Gunmen would not be able to turn up to their own offices and would have to find somewhere to stay; they debated on it, but they all agreed that your flat was not big enough for all four of them at once. Neither was Mulder’s. Or Scully’s. Or even Yves’. No one’s flat was big enough to house all of them, and they didn’t have money to rent out four hotel rooms. So they bickered and they debated and they attempted to come to a conclusion together, but then Byers suggested something that none of them had been expecting. 

“What if I go to (y/n)’s?” He started, “and, and Frohike, you could go stay with Mulder. Langly, you could stay with Scully. And Jimmy, you could ask Yves if she would let you stay there.” 

But much to Byers’ surprise, the Gunmen agreed, and they soon contacted each person to ask if they could stay after they had explained the situation; you agreed right away, asking if he needed anything or if there was anything he wanted. Mulder took a little convincing, but he eventually agreed on the promise that Frohike would lend him whatever equipment he would need the next time he needed the Gunmen’s help. Scully was reluctant, but she soon agreed, so long as Langly promised not to make trouble. And Yves… well, Yves took the most convincing, and she didn’t exactly sound happy about it, but like Mulder and Scully, she offered to pick Jimmy up outside of your place and take him over to hers for a while - but only for the week, she had said, no longer than the week, he only had seven days. And true to the promises, Mulder had picked Frohike up at your place, hanging around for a long while to talk; Scully did the same, except she helped Langly to get their things together as well; and Yves didn’t stop for long, she acted as if she hated having to put up with Jimmy for a week, but really, she had a bit of a soft spot for him, and she was a little giddy about spending the week together, although she would be caught dead before she even thought such a thing around another living person. With just you and Byers in your flat, it felt different, you could smell him everywhere you went, which wasn’t exactly unexpected although you did expect to pick up on Langly or Frohike or even Jimmy’s scents, but you couldn’t; you could tell where he was in the flat by just listening to his footsteps; you were oddly at least, content to spend the day doing this and that and the other, helping him to put his things away in the empty drawers and shelves of your wardrobe, dancing with him to ‘Tennessee Waltz’ by Sam Cooke in the middle of your flat as if no one was watching… but the second he was out of the room, you had to try your best not to think about the silver bullet, about the cigarette smoking man - would he hurt Byers? Would he hurt Byers just to get to you, or to get to Fox? Would he threaten Byers and Fox just to flush you out so he could kill you? The cigarette smoking man would have put a bullet between your eyes if he was given half a chance, and although you did your best to forget about it, you couldn’t help but to drift back to it every single time that Byers left the room. You didn’t want him to get hurt, you really didn’t. Not Byers. Never Byers. You would have done anything for him without so much as a thought or even a second of hesitation. You didn’t want him to get hurt because of you. Because you were a monster.


	3. Fire & Forgive

After the night of the full blood moon, Byers had taken to sleeping in your bed with you like a duck to water, easily becoming more and more comfortable with you lying on his chest at night and only occasionally being awaken by the same nightmare that you refused to talk about, but he didn’t mind, whether or not you wanted to talk to him about what your nightmares were about was your decision, and he wasn’t going to pressure you either way, but he did make it known that he was there, he was there if ever you wanted to talk; but one particular night, you were sat at opposite ends of the sofa whilst watching ‘Romeo and Juliet’, and would keep stealing glances and gazes at one another during the more romantic scenes, as if to say something that could never be said, as if you yearned to be Romeo and to tell Byers of every little ounce of love that you held for him so dearly, but you soon snuggled up to him by the end of the film. By the end of the film, where the lovers’ tragic tale ends in tears and troubles, you were pressed firmly into his side, your hand on his chest, just above the beating heart that he begged to keep still, and while Byers did stiffen and freeze up for a few moments, not particularly sure how to react and blushing so terribly and so deeply that he was almost certain he had burned his face in the sun earlier in the day, he could feel his hands trembling, his fingers shaking like blades of grass during a storm. For more than a few moments, his eyes were wide with shock, and he couldn’t bring himself to move despite the fact that he was sweating and wanted, needed, to take his blazer off to try and cool down, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t move a single muscle, and instead, he decided to snuggle down with you, doing his best not to think about the sudden reaction he had had to your touch; you could have stayed well away from him, on your side of the sofa, but you chose not to, for some reason, even when there was no one else around, you still chose to be close to him, you still chose to get close to him and to snuggle into him, and he knew, now, that you had purposefully chosen him each time you had dared to cuddle with, you had purposefully chosen him and he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t sure why and he didn’t know if he wanted to ask for fear of looking stupid and foolish and idiotic and all those things his father had called him back in his youth that he never wanted to be called again. He wasn’t quite sure why you were usually so peaceful when you slept at his side, but he did try and chalk it down to lycanthropy and pack dynamics despite the fact that he knew very much that it was far from either of those things. 

The day was young, though, the sun was high and the air wasn’t hot but it wasn’t cold, either, and you had somehow allowed Byers to talk you into going ice skating with him, Skinner, Frohike, Mulder, Langly, Doggett, Scully, Jimmy, Reyes, and Yves; but as you clumsily staggered across the ice, holding onto Byers for dear life, you could not help but to smile and to allow yourself to become quite giddy if you were honest. 

“You’re doing really well,” he told you gently and with heavy sincerity, flashing you a smile as he gently held onto you. Your eyes were wide, though, and you were flinching each time you so much as felt yourself stumble, causing you to almost constantly grip onto Byers that little bit tighter. “You can let go, (y/n), you’re doing really well.” 

“Yeah, no, I think I’d rather fucking bite some silver than let go,” you whimpered, nearly jumping into his arms when you felt yourself slip, letting out a little bark and a little yap here and there when you did almost fall backwards. But as time went on, as time grew by on the ice, you found your grip drifting down to Byers’ hand, your fingers laced with his as you dared to break a little bit away, daring to try and stand on your own and to glide along the ice without breaking his arm clinging on and holding on tightly. Byers was proud of you, he wouldn’t dare to lie about that, he was proud with how you had finally decided to break away from him and to try to skate on your own two feet, although he couldn’t help but to laugh at how you very much did seem like a scared dog on thin ice. It was adorable, he thought, and while he was incredibly proud of you, he did have to admit that he missed the bone-breaking strength of which you gripped onto him with. He did have to admit that he missed it despite his pride at how you finally moved to skate beside him. 

But on the other side of the rink, Yves, Frohike and Langly and Jimmy were all stood against the rails, talking to Scully and Mulder and Reyes and Doggett, only daring to finally look up when Skinner clumsily moved past them to get to you and Byers, nearly tripping and falling as he skidded to a halt and cleared his throat. 

“How are you feeling today, (y/n)?” Skinner asked, looking at you and practically ignoring Byers, after all, he had been worried about you, and he had wanted to know that you were safe and that you weren’t constantly paranoid and on edge, he wanted to know that you were alright, above anything else. 

You shrugged, giving Byers’ hand a little squeeze as you let out a sigh, using your free hand to rub at the back of your neck, scratching the hairs that littered your skin as you looked from Byers to Skinner, daring to smile just a little bit. “I’m fine, Uncle Skinner, honestly.” 

But Skinner could see through the lies oh so easily, he knew you far too well, after all, you were his nephew, he knew you like he knew his best friends, and he frowned as he looked between you and Byers; he knew something was going on, he would have to have been incredibly and awfully ignorant not to have recognised such a thing, but he would never comment on the subject unless if you had brought it up, and he wasn’t about to start now. He did have a feeling, though, that there was something other than that playing on your mind. He had a feeling that the events with the cigarette smoking man were still haunting you like the ghost trapped within your halls and the rats trapped within your walls. Skinner could see that you were far from fine, he could see it so easily, and although he wanted to, he knew that it was best that he remained quiet and that he said nothing. 

“And you, Byers?” Skinner said, turning to your companion with a raised brow. “How are the Gunmen? I heard what had happened at your office, I’m sorry.”

Byers looked down at you, holding your gaze and daring to give your hand a little squeeze as he smiled and took in a deep breath before looking over at Skinner and trying to offer up a polite smile; but the way that you were holding his hand and how you were so close, it was making him stutter and stumble over his words as he did his best not to look at you, not to revel in the way that you held his hand and the way that he loved having you so near, the way that he loved you. “Uh, I’m, I’m fine, thank you. Our, uh, our landlord said we had to pay for the, the guy that removed the rats as, as well as upping our rent so… things aren’t going to be great.” 

“I’ll see if I can do something about that,” Skinner replied with a sigh before looking from Byers to you for a moment, nodding. He turned around, looking over at Frohike and Scully and Mulder and Langly and Jimmy and Doggett and Yves and Reyes, and he dared to smile. “Byers, don’t you know how to skate professionally?”

“Yes, Sir,” Byers answered with a curt nod, brows furrowing and his lips turning into a little frown as he looked at you and swallowed thickly. “Why?”

“Why don’t you see if you can get my agents and your friends to learn?” Skinner asked with a hum of curiosity. “Although, I need to have a word with Mulder and my nephew - if you’d be willing to spare them, that is.” 

“Of, of course, Assistant Director Skinner,” Byers replied, and although he seemed to rush, Skinner immediately noticed the way that he was reluctant and hesitant to let you go, reluctant and hesitant to let go of your hand and pull away from your side. Skinner noticed it just as he noticed the way you slightly raised your brows and watched Byers leave you with the expression of a pained puppy dog. It was far from hidden, it was as obvious as anything, and now that there was no worry about breaking confidentiality, Skinner could mention it to you. 

“You know, you’d be better off just telling him you love him.” 

You turned to him, scoffing as you made your way to the edge of the rink and pushed open the little door, you held it for Skinner before you dared to sit at the bench with him, taking your skates off so that you could finally put your ratty old Vans back on. “No, I wouldn’t.” 

“Why not?” He asked, following suit before escaping with you to the smoking area, watching with mild disgust as you lit up a cigarette and leaned against the wall. “If you’re worried about the cigarette smoking man-” 

“I’m not,” you said coldly, shaking your head and sighing heavily, nearly choking on your own smoke as you let out a harsh breath. “Well, I am, but I’m… it’s different, alright? I can’t tell him.” 

“But-”

Skinner silenced himself the second he saw Fox approaching, letting him stand beside you and leaning one foot on the wall, looking between you and Skinner expectantly. 

“Your boyfriend’s got his work cut out for him,” Fox told you, nudging your arm as he smiled. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you grumbled, rolling your eyes. 

“Yet,” Skinner added with a serious expression. “Mulder, would you help my nephew tell Byers that he’s in love with him?”

“Sure I would,” Fox agreed without so much as giving it a first thought, let alone a second or a third. He looked at you with a raised brow, then, daring to ruffle your hair. “Anything for the wolf-man.” 

“I will fucking bite your arm off and have it for breakfast,” you growled, although both Skinner and Fox could hear the playfulness in your voice, like the yap of a puppy. “Don’t try me, Spooky.” 

But Fox only grinned at you, holding his hands up in false surrender as he shrugged, his head tilted to the side slightly. “I’m not doing anything.” 

You glared at him, finishing your cigarette off before daring to snap your jaws at him. “You’re breathing, aren’t you?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Fox hummed. “You know Byers isn’t here, you don’t need to show off.” 

“You fucking-” 

“That’s enough, you two,” Skinner finally intervened, grabbing you by the back of your shirt collar when you jovially lunged at Fox, he gently pulled you back, shaking his head. “Now, are we going to talk like adults, or are you two going to act like children the entire time?”

“Can it not be both?” You and Fox asked in complete and utter unison, as if something in your minds had decided to sync up at that very moment, forcing you to grin at one another. 

“No,” Skinner replied with a sigh, “no, it can’t be both.” 

“Well that sucks,” you frowned. “But I don’t see why we have to talk about how I feel for Byers, I mean, shit, it’s not like anything good could come of it.” 

“Because he makes you happy,” Skinner told you with a shake of his head. He rubbed his temple. 

“And because we all know that he feels the same for you,” Fox added with a shrug. He dared to smile at you. “You can deny it all you want, (y/n), but you know it’s the truth.” 

“So what if it is?” You scoffed, raising a brow as you looked between them both. “I think what you two don’t realise is that I’ll hurt him…” a whine came from the back of your throat. “All I’d ever do is hurt him…” 

“You love us, though,” Fox pointed out. “And you haven’t hurt us yet. I don’t think you ever will, either.” 

“That’s different,” you snapped coldly, giving him an icy glare that should have chilled him to the bones, but you knew that he knew you all too well to let such a look go further than the tips of the hairs on his skin. “Besides, now that I’ve got this cigarette smoking bastard on my tail, it’s not like I could tell him even if I fucking wanted to - that bastard’s got a silver bullet, sure, but if…” 

You couldn’t finish your sentence, and Fox and Skinner didn’t expect you to, either, as they hung their heads and sighed heavily, looking at you sadly when they finally looked up again; it was a difficult thing to love someone when your life was in danger, it was a difficult thing to love someone when you knew that someone who wanted you dead would hurt them just to hurt you even more, it was a difficult thing to want to protect someone but not knowing how, not knowing to protect them when there was no way of knowing when an attack would come. They didn’t expect you to open up about the fear and the paralysing constant sense of dread that loomed over you like the shadow of a tree on an alligator’s scales. They didn’t expect you to be so open, they would never pressure you to talk, and they hoped that you knew that. 

“Come on,” Skinner said at last, sighing as he tilted his head for a second, motioning for you and Fox to follow him. “We’ll get everyone some coffee and act like this conversation never happened.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Fox agreed with a nod. “How do you feel about it, White Fang?”

“I think you should shut the fuck up,” you quietly growled, unable to keep the smile that rested on your lips as you looked at him. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s you that needs the muzzle,” Fox chuckled, laying an arm across your shoulders and letting you lean into him and nuzzle against his neck for a moment or two before you pulled away and glared up at him. 

“One of these days I will genuinely bite you,” you laughed softly, but when Fox dared to try and ruffle your hair again, you pushed him away, and nipped at his fingertips, letting out a low but whining growl. “You wanna start that shit again, Fox? Because you know that I’ll put you on your ass.” 

But suddenly, you both had to stop, nearly colliding into one another when you realised that Skinner had stopped in front of a coffee van, looking at you both with disappointment; sure, he was glad that you could play around and that you could relax for a moment with your best friend, but all the same, he would have been very much glad of it if you would have waited until you were at home before you decided to act like idiots. 

“Are you two done?” He asked. 

“He started it!” You and Fox whined in utter synchronicity again, pointing at one another accusedly, begging Skinner to believe you both. But he didn’t. You were both as bad as each other, and you knew it, which was why he sighed, turning to the poor man in the van who had just had to witness two full grown men acting like children. Skinner was polite, though, ordering the eleven different beverages and thanking the man profusely when they were ready. 

“You can carry this one,” Skinner said as he handed you a cardboard tray with three cups of coffee in it. “That’s mine, yours and Mulder’s in there.” 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you glared at Fox, trying your best not to laugh when he started to do so, biting it back as you held your breath to try and keep down the urge to let the laughter flow. “I mean it.” 

“Mulder, this one’s the Gunmen’s.” Skinner told him, giving him the tray although he did not exactly trust him with it, preferring to walk behind you and Fox this time until you found the others sat on a couple of benches. The Gunmen were on one, with Scully and Doggett and Yves and Reyes on another, there was a bench just next to the Gunmen’s that you, Skinner and Fox stole after dishing out the various cups. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, chatting and laughing while you were, once again, ganged up on by Fox and Skinner. And it was no surprise that they were, once again, trying to convince you to ask Byers out; which you were far from doing, and which you would never let anyone except them know about - you couldn’t trust anyone with your feelings, you knew that, you would always know that. You couldn’t confess to Byers, not know, and not ever. You could never confess to him the things that you felt and the things that he did to your heart and your mind and your soul. You could never confess or admit to such a thing, you knew that, you knew what the consequences of doing so would do, you knew what price would have had to have been paid if you were to tell him. Silence was better than fire. 

“I just don’t see why you don’t tell him,” Fox said quietly, taking the lid from his coffee to let it cool down for a second, his hands clasped around the disposable cup with his fingers interlocked. “You love him, don’t you?”

“Well, shit, you know I do,” you growled, keeping your voice at just a murmuring thunder, the clapping of a harsh thunderstorm deep down in the pits of your body, deep down somewhere that it would never be found, somewhere so far down that it could never be used against you or the people that you loved. “But it’s not that fucking easy.” 

“It’s not exactly subtle, (y/n),” Skinner told you, making sure that his voice couldn’t be heard by anyone else, making sure that no one would catch so much as a vibration of his voice. “I can see it, Mulder can see it. You’d be better off telling Byers the truth.” 

“But it’s not that easy,” you insisted, shaking your head before taking a swig from your coffee, letting it scald your tongue and your throat as it boiled down to your stomach. You licked your lips, your tongue felt coarse thanks to the scalding heat, but you liked it well enough. Pain was temporary, pain would fade. And at least now you had some caffeine in your blood. “You two should know that by now, it’s not fucking easy.” 

“But it is,” Fox told you with a slight growl to his voice. “All you have to do is tell him.” 

“It’s not,” you hissed, shaking your head. “It’s not that fucking easy, you have no idea how fucking difficult it is to just love him, let alone how fucking difficult it would be to actually tell him.” 

“I think you’re overthinking it,” Skinner admitted with a frown. “I mean, come on, (y/n), you know as well as I do that he’s the only one who can calm you down when you lose your temper, not to mention how you’re constantly touching each other like you need it to breathe.” 

“He has a point,” Fox agreed. “I’ve known you most of my life, (y/n), and I’ve never seen you act like that around anyone except Byers.” 

“So you’re both just suddenly going to forget that I turn into a fucking monster that could hurt him?” You asked with a bitter chuckle, raising a brow as you took another swig of your coffee. Fuck it burned. It burned like the way that Byers’ touch burned your heart, melting the bony cage of your ribs and causing your heart to thump and thud and to thunder and crash and cry and cry and cry. It burned but in the best of ways. 

“We’re not forgetting that,” Fox muttered, shaking his head as he brought his own cup to his lips at last and took a sip. He set it down with a wince, thinking to himself that if he left it for another few minutes then maybe it would be cool enough to actually drink. “I know as well as you do that you would never hurt him.” 

“How do you know?” You questioned, looking at the lid of your coffee cup and studying the little bumps and looking at how the steam slipped through the little holes. 

“How could I not?” He shot back, tilting his head and offering a small but sad smile. “You haven’t hurt me. And we’ve known each other for years.” 

“You haven’t hurt me, either,” Skinner noted. “And I’ve known you and your dad for even longer… neither of you have ever hurt me, even when you’ve shifted.” 

“Actually, if we’re counting when shifting, you hurt me once,” Fox added. “And that was when you fell asleep on me and made me wake up with a stiff arm.” 

“Real funny, Fox, real fucking funny,” you glared at your friend before huffing and hanging your head. “What if I lost control?”

“I don’t think you would,” Skinner admitted. “Byers has calmed you down from your temper more times than I can count - I don’t think you would lose control around him.” 

“But I could,” you protested with a whisper. “I could lose control… and that I dread, because you both fucking know that if I lost control I could…” you swallowed thickly, eyes widening with fear at the thought of such a thing ever happening. “I could kill him… if I ever lost control, I could kill him…”

“I don’t think that would ever happen,” Fox told you softly. “I really don’t.” 

“But what if it did?” You asked. “What if I did kill him? What if I did hurt him because I was stupid enough to let him get too close?” 

The cigarette smoking man’s words echoed in your head, then, making you wonder if he was behind you whispering them, causing a shudder to slowly slide down your spine. The words were so cold, so icy, yet they were burned into your mind with fire, and you felt your throat grow clogged and thick when you heard them, just as you felt your heart drop and your breath hitch as if to let out a blood curdling scream that would never go further than sitting uncomfortably on your lungs, crushing them, breaking them, shattering them. 

“Mister (y/l/n), when a dog goes rabid, what do you do with it? You shoot it, right between the eyes.”

“You wouldn’t,” Skinner said kindly, softly, with as much paternal love as a father would have. “I can genuinely say that you wouldn’t, (y/n).” 

“He knows I’m a werewolf,” you whispered, biting at the inside of your lip so much that you could feel the flesh pull away between your teeth and you could taste the blood in your mouth and feel the sting of coffee on the damaged parts, “he knows that, but I don’t want him to see that side… I don’t want John to see the bad side of me,” you looked up at your two family members with a frown. “I don’t want him to see the monster I really am.” 

Fox could understand, on some level, as could Skinner, on some level they could both understand what you were feeling and why you felt that way; they could understand why you were scared, why you were so upset about Byers seeing the ‘bad’ side of you. But neither knew how to particularly comfort you, neither knew how to properly reassure you that they had meant what they had said, that they didn’t see you as a monster, they could never see your wolfish, beastly, side as a bad thing - it was a part of you, and they had never once known you to hurt anyone when you had shifted, they had never once known you to cause anyone any pain, and they had every right to be convinced of such a thing, as in all the years they had both known you, you had never once hurt Skinner or Fox. Although you did fall asleep on Fox that one time and caused his arm to grow stiff because he couldn’t move it, and although you did once knock Skinner off of his feet because you had been so excited to see him and had not known your own strength, you had never hurt anyone. So why would that change with Byers? Why would you suddenly hurt Byers if you had never hurt those you considered family? They had seen how careful you were around Byers, too, they had seen how you tried to be as gentle with him as you could be; they had seen how you would let him push you out of your comfort zone, just as they had seen how you would drape yourself over his back and fall asleep in his arms. They had seen you fall asleep in Byers’ arms so many times that they were convinced that you would exhaust yourself just so you could sleep with him. Fox thought about how Frohike had mentioned that, on the night the Gunmen had stayed with you, you had fallen asleep on Byers, your head on his shoulder, one arm around his back, your hand finding its way to his, holding on tightly but not painfully so; Frohike had mentioned how Byers had tilted his head so that it was against yours, and he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. But then Fox smiled as he thought about how you had even welcomed Byers into your own bed, which he knew was a big thing for you; werewolves weren’t keen on sharing the space they were most vulnerable with people, and yet, you had given part of your bed to Byers, and Fox knew that, even though you would do your best to lie and to brush it off and to deny everything, it meant something. It meant something and Fox knew it. Fox knew that it meant something, and although he did want to say something about it, he knew better than to push his luck and to upset you further by pointing such a thing out. But while Fox was thinking about what Frohike had told him, Skinner couldn’t help but to think about how Byers so easily calmed your temper; It was gentle, Byers would place one hand at the back of your neck, pulling you in close so that your forehead was against his and you could do nothing but look into his eyes, his other hand resting on your shoulder as he kept you still and steady; you would snarl and try to violently pull away, but Byers’ gentle grip was always enough to keep you focused on his eyes and to start breathing with him, harsh and heavy panting becoming slow and steady sighing. Byers would whisper things to you, Skinner was never quite sure what, he would mutter things that seemingly only you could understand and you could ever hear, something at twenty-five kilohertz if that was even possible, and you would listen. It was as if he was blowing a dog whistle that grabbed your attention but that nobody else could even try and hear. Byers would only let you go once you grabbed his cheeks, though, once you grabbed his cheeks and nodded was the very second that he knew that you were calm enough to let go, but you would always stick to his side for moments afterwards, you would stick to his side and look at him every now and then, as if he was the only thing that would ever keep you calm. And although Skinner tried his best, he could never get that little trick to work, as you would pull away so easily and he would need to wrap both of his arms around you tightly in order to stop you from wrecking the place and causing chaos and havoc and mayhem with your ill temper. No, Skinner could never quite calm you down like Byers could. Then again, Skinner was terrified of your temper, which probably didn’t help. But Skinner knew that that meant something, he knew that the fact that Byers was the only one that could ever calm you down meant something, he knew all too well that it definitely meant something and that it was a clue, if not an entire reveal, as to how you felt about the investigative reporter - but even Skinner knew where his boundaries lied with you, and he wasn’t about to poke the bear with a stick if he could help it. So he looked over at Fox, and shrugged, not particularly sure what to do. 

“Do you guys wanna clue us in as to what you’re talking about?” Frohike asked suddenly, causing you and Fox and Skinner to finally sit upright as you all looked over at him with shock. 

You and Fox didn’t want to admit what the conversation was about, you didn’t want to just out your feelings to everyone like that, especially not with Byers present, but as you looked at one another with wide eyes, unsure of what to lie and say you were talking about, Skinner took the reigns, clearing his throat. 

“Family business,” Skinner lied, glaring at you and Fox out of the corner of his eye, silently commanding you both to be silent as he kept control. “Just discussing the plans for the birthday party at (y/n)’s father’s house.” 

Everyone seemed to believe that, nodding and accepting the words, after all, why would assistant director Walter Skinner lie? 

But then Fox spoke up. 

“Yeah, we just need to figure out if we’re getting a band or not.” 

And then the lie died, and Scully cleared her throat as she looked at him, tilting her head. “Mulder, you are a terrible liar. “What’s going on?”

“It’s for his mum’s birthday,” you lied, tugging at your ear, glaring at him with a fire burning behind your eyes. “It’s meant to be a surprise.” 

Again, everyone nodded, and you had hoped that your little cover-up worked as you sighed, squeezing your eyes tightly shut as Doggett and Reyes and Yves and Scully and Langly and Frohike and Jimmy went back to their conversations, but Byers remained silent; he knew you were lying, he knew that there was no birthday party that was being planned, and he knew it just by the way you had tugged at your ear. No one else had noticed it, but to Byers, it was the most obvious thing in the world, and while he did wonder why you would cover something up from people you considered friends, he reminded himself that it wasn’t his business, and that if you didn’t want to tell him, then it wasn’t his business to know, and he had no right to question you about it or to bring it up later at your flat. 

After spending the day with everyone, you needed a little time to think to yourself, to try and forgive yourself for your weaknesses and your faults and your flaws and your vulnerability; you had gone to a local field, an open space with green grass and green weeds and high tall trees with yellow and green moss on their branches, the sun setting over the high bridge nearby that had cars running along it in a constant stream like a tap that had been left gushing. The air was cold and crisp, and you could see your breath as you sat on the hill, watching the sun begin to set, thankful that Byers had needed to go out and help Doggett and Reyes with something for a few hours, thankful that that meant that he wouldn’t worry about where you were or who you were with. But nearby, a twig crunched beneath heavy boots, and you turned around to see a fairly tall man with dark hair and a sinister look in his eyes that made you tense up. 

“We meet at last,” he said with a chuckle, taking a step forward as you got to your feet, but he shook his head. “Oh, don’t bother with that, (y/n). You won’t live long enough to try and fight.” 

You startled to circle around the man, and he followed suit, pacing around one another like wolves getting ready to fight over who was the most dominant. You narrowed your eyes, your lips curling up slightly to expose your teeth. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Krycek,” he told you. “Now, stay still, and let me shoot you.” 

“I don’t think so, bud,” you chuckled, shaking your head and continuing to prowl in a circle with him. 

“You know, when I kill you, I’m going to bring Byers to see your corpse,” Krycek started, “and I’m going to rub his nose right in it. Mulder, too. I’ll make sure Byers takes lots of pictures for his silly little newspaper. I might even take a few myself before I shoot him in the head.” 

You could feel your heart begin to beat shallowly but quickly as you couldn’t help but to stop in your tracks, eyes widening as you let out a growl of agony, being brought to your knees; the first thing to change was your teeth, elongating and sharpening, becoming carnivorous and making your gums bleed, coating the fresh fangs in crystal clear red blood that looked black in the sunset.

But as the bones of your skull began to crack and to expand into something wolfish, your ears became longer and more pointed but stayed at the side of your head and your jaw starting to become longer to make way for those horrid rows of fangs, your voice turned to nothing but a series of grunts and growls, whimpers and whines. Your nose turned somewhat circular, folding in on itself to become more canine, causing you to arch your back and whine.

Krycek couldn’t believe what he was seeing, unable to do anything except watch, his hands starting to tremble as even though he had done and seen some awful things, he wasn’t sure what he was watching now, and he could feel the chill in his spine as he watched the gruesome sight before him and winced at every screaming of shattered bone.

Your fingers became shorter, reduced to mere claws at the knuckle as your thumbs completely shrank into your skin, making you howl so loudly that Krycek doubled over and covered his ears at the monstrous sound. With the claws, you managed to escape from your clothes, lying on your side in the dirt for a moment as the rest of the transformation went underway; your spine coiled, forcing you to become a beast on all fours as your arms and legs became slightly longer.

The last was the fur. A thousand little needles shooting out of your skin with pin-pricks of blood on the tips, covering your body in a coat of off-white on your legs and stomach, dark grey and black on your head, back and neck, and rusty brown on your ears and face. Your shoulder blades could be seen through the thin fur, pointed out as if they had been dislocated, and it was clear to see that your tailbone had shot out of your lower back and had left a circle of blood matted into the fur there.

But you got up, and you shook off the blood that had coated your body, shaking like a wet dog as you snarled at Krycek, who gasped for air and looked around with wide eyes, desperate for somewhere to run. He was scared, his heart seeming to give out as he stood there, his feet glued to the floor despite every single instinct telling him to run, and when he tried to reach for his gun, his hands shook so much that he couldn’t even push his coat aside enough to grab it.

When you went to lunge for him, though, that was when Krycek finally got his instincts to kick in and to control his body, running down the hill as fast as he could while your paws pounded at the floor, snapping jaws at his ankle as he desperately looked for a tree to climb, something high he could get up on, and when he spotted a tree with a branch just high enough that he could jump and grab, he did so eagerly, hugging the branch before going up to the next one and looking down at the mangled wolfish thing you had become; when you pressed your paws and thick claws against the tree trunk, Krycek flinched, his breathing shallow and quick as he let out a soft whimper.

He swallowed thickly, although his throat was dry and he was struggling to breathe. When you finally huffed and got back down on all fours, pacing around him so that he could see the mangled shape of your spine and your hips and your shoulders, Krycek managed to read for his gun; he was still shaking as he cocked it and aimed, trying his best to steady himself as he exhaled and pulled the trigger. He heard a yelp, and saw you laid on the ground for a moment. A gaping hole in your side, bleeding into the off-white fur of your stomach thickly. But then he heard the sound of cracking flesh being sewn together, and he watched with wide eyes and a fearful expression as the bullet hole healed itself, the bullet itself popping out of your flesh and onto the ground, still wet with blood.

You snarled, and Krycek dropped his gun, gasping as you picked it up with your jaws. Metal bent. And the gun fell into two pieces either side of your mouth. Krycek could now see the hackles on your neck and along your spine, how they stood up stiffly as you lowered your head and looked up at him with glowing tawny eyes. He swallowed thickly, shaking his head as tears began to augment in his eyes. Fuck, he was scared. He knew he was well and truly and royally fucked. But he had a job to do, at the end of the day, and he had something that he needed to prove to the cigarette smoking man. He had a job to do, and he was going to die before he would let it go unfinished; so, with all his might, Krycek grasped onto the branch, and swung himself around, kicking you right in the side of the head and causing you to stumble sideways with a snort, looking down at the ground for a moment before snapping your head over to look at him. Shoulders moved up and down as you walked, the left and the right like a seesaw, and your head was ducked down as you slowly walked towards him as he tried to scamper back up the hill, only to slip on some mud and slide down onto his back right as you placed a heavy paw on his shoulder, crushing the bone easily. Krycek gasped, holding his prosthetic hand up in front of his face for a second before thrashing about, but just as his hand was about to make contact with your face, your jaws wrapped around it, and you bit through it with one clean crunch, just as you had done with his gun. 

“Oh, what the fuck?” He whispered, still breathless as he tried to move and to grab his knife, but with your paw on his broken shoulder, he couldn’t move his upper body, and had no choice but to lift his legs up to kick you in the chest, which didn’t do much except to give him some time to grab the knife in his pocket. He could taste blood on his lips and could feel the broken bones shift in his shoulder, creaking and cracking as he grabbed the knife and tried to catch his breath; when you lunged at him again, he kicked you in the face, which sent you back a few paces, but you only sneezed before going for him again, this time making sure you put your back paws on his legs, but the majority of your weight was at the front, and when you heavily hit the dirt on either side of his head with your paws, the mud went flying into his eyes. Your jaws snapped in his face, and with all the strength he could muster, Krycek brought the knife up to your face, and slashed at it - but nothing happened. When he tried again, he was met by the sound of metal shattering, and he laid there in the dirt with his mouth agape and his eyes wide, his lips dry and his throat much the same, his hands shaking as he realised. He realised that this was the end. 

Birds were tweeting when Krycek felt something, someone, kick him in the ribs, and his immediate reaction was to curl into a ball, whimpering pathetically as he shook his head and begged for mercy; but much to his surprise, when he looked up, he saw the cigarette smoking man. He raced to get on his feet, grinning and sobbing into the older man’s chest as he apologised again and again and again; but the cigarette smoking man pushed him away, lighting up a Morley cigarette and shaking his head at Krycek, although there was no anger or disappointment in his eyes, only an icy apathy, Krycek couldn’t help but to recoil and to hang his head, a punished son that was only trying to do his job, only trying to do what was right and what needed to be done. Krycek opened his mouth to speak, but was met with a command to be quiet. 

“You disobeyed me.” The cigarette smoking man said, his breath visible in the air and not just because of the cigarettes. “I told you not to go after (y/n), and now look at you.” 

“I didn’t know,” Krycek muttered with a sigh. “I didn’t know he was… what the fuck was that?”

His voice was frantic, that much was plain to hear, shaking and breaking, and the confused look in Krycek’s eyes was hard to ignore, too, he looked like a rabbit that had been on the run from a fox all night; a rat chased down by a dog until the early hours of the morning. 

“I told you not to go after him,” the cigarette smoking man said again. 

“What the fuck was that?” Krycek pleaded, flinching when birds flew overhead and when twigs snapped. “Dad, I’m scared.” 

The cigarette smoking man turned away before turning back, and with a loud slap, he hit Krycek with the back of his hand, causing the younger man to stumble backwards as he clutched his cheek, able to feel how his lip had split as he shuddered and trembled, confused, scared. 

“You are to take yourself to the hospital,” the cigarette smoking man said without even thinking about looking at Krycek, he stubbed out his cigarette. He lit up a new one. “You will tell them that it was an animal attack, a bear or a wolf, perhaps. Get yourself cleaned up, and then when the time is right, I will contact you again - is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Krycek cried, whimpering, whining as he swallowed thickly. “But what was that?”

“That was something you wouldn’t understand,” the cigarette smoking man started to walk away. “You would be wise not to try it again, Krycek.” 

But something within Krycek was crying out and begging him to try it again, telling him that he needed to find a way to get rid of you, whatever the fuck kind of monster you were, he needed to put you down well and truly for good; but fuck, his shoulder was aching, and his prosthetic was cleanly bitten into two, and his gun had been destroyed, and his face hurt like a bitch, and he could feel the dried mud on his face and how the shoulders of his clothes were soaked with blood. He would go to the hospital first, he would get patched up and he would heal, but as soon as that was done and over with, he would go after you, and he would make it hurt more than he had planned to first. But the images of the previous night haunted him as he walked along the lonely roads to the hospital, they haunted him for good reason, as he could still see how your body had contorted and broken itself to turn into something… something else. He could still hear the cracking of bone and that eerie and gargled howl that had made his ears hurt more than anything. He really was in over his head with this one, as even though he wanted nothing more than to check the X-Files, as he knew very much that there was bound to be something in them that he could use, he knew that he would need to keep a low-profile for the next few days, he knew that he would need to rest up and to get himself together before he could properly take you on; he had not been prepared last night, he realised that, now, he realised that guns and knives and his own strength were not enough - he had to find a weakness, he had to find a physical weakness, as he knew that psychological warfare would mean nothing anynmore, not when you knew he was scared, his own stupid mistakes had made sure of that. He needed to do more research, to gather more information, to find out exactly what kind of a monster was hidden beneath your skin and how he could kill it; he needed to find the monster that you were, the monster that haunted his brain and caused him to flinch at the nearest sound and at the sight of dogs, he needed to find out what monster you were and how easy it would be to put you down. He needed to find out what monster it was so that he could make sure that it hurt, so that he could make sure that he was given his payback and his vengeance for how badly you had hurt him last night. He would prove to the cigarette smoking man, then, that he was the best of the best, and that he was better than Mulder or anyone else in the world. He could prove himself at last. 

Byers had not heard you sneak back in in the dead of night, he wasn’t even aware you had left in the first place as he had gotten back only minutes after you did, and by then, you had shifted again and were sound asleep in your bed, but now it was morning and he had things to do and he was somewhat exhausted from all the work he had done the previous night and had not quite slept off, but as he sat on the sofa, he couldn’t help but to smile at the song that came on the radio; (What A) Wonderful World by Sam Cooke, a song that always made him smile even when he was in the worst of moods, as it did always remind him of you, and he could never help but to be cheered up by that. He had that day’s latest newspapers on the coffee table, thumbing through one as he was quite content to wait for you to finally wake up, as when he had gotten up that morning, you were still sound asleep, and he didn’t have the heart to move you - after all, there was nothing to do that day. Frohike and Langly were trying to find something to report on for the Gunman paper, Jimmy was being treated to a day out with Yves as she needed him to act as her husband in order to gain access to an old friend for dinner, Scully was working and so was Mulder, Doggett had insisted on spending the day with Reyes’ girlfriend so that they could get to know one another, Skinner was working. There wasn’t much to do, and although Byers was a little thankful for the rest break, it did also mean that he could leave you in bed to sleep for a few extra hours as he did never have the heart to shove you awake - that’s what the old saying was, wasn’t it? Let sleeping dogs lie. 

“Don't know much about history,” Byers started, he knew he was far from the best singer in the world, but all the same, he couldn’t help but to gently hum along to the lyrics of such a beautiful song, “don't know much biology, don't know much about a science book, don't know much about the French I took-”

He was silenced when he looked up to see you, wearing just a pair of your boxers and one of his blazers, stretching your arms above your head and smacking your lips as you tried your best to wake up properly; but Byers’ smiled when he heard something in the song, and his voice was breathless, leaving him unable to do anything except to whisper a very gentle, “but I do know that I love you, and I know that if you love me, too, what a wonderful world this would be…”

“Sam Cooke,” you hummed, gazing at him for a moment before moving to light up a cigarette and make yourself some coffee, but Byers followed you, leaning against your kitchen counter as he tilted his head to the side. “Yes, dear?”

“I, uh, that’s my, my blazer,” he said softly, blushing furiously, his cerulean eyes looked so beautiful when he was blushing, the shades of pink seemed to make the blue that much more brighter. 

“Oh, uh…” you chuckled nervously, shrugging. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I just grabbed it because it was the first thing I felt.” 

“No, no, don’t…” swallowing thickly, Byers did his best not to think about how good you had looked in it, as while you did look rather scruffy, rather exhausted and run down as if you had not slept in days and as if you had not done anything except lounge around for days on end, he had to admit that he did love the way that his blazer looked on you, hanging off of your shoulders as you refused to put your arms through the sleeves. You looked so amazing, and he couldn’t help but to wonder if the blazer would now smell like you and if that smell would be strong enough for him to recognise. “Don’t apologise, I just… just thought I’d say because… it might get cold later.” 

You nodded, smiling at him and humming as you took a swig of your coffee, a noise of appreciation leaving the back of your throat; you didn’t mind borrowing Byers’ blazer, in fact, it had been purposeful, as it smelled so strongly of him, and you wanted to roll in it and to cover yourself in his scent. But you couldn’t, so all you could do was to wear it over your shoulders in hope that you could steal a little bit of it for yourself; but as you stood there, drinking your coffee and smoking your cigarette, your mind suddenly flashed back to the previous night. How brutal you had been, how you had broken that man’s hand and his gun and his knife and his shoulder, how you had left him for what you were sure was dead and how the smell of his fear was so overwhelming in the air; it made you worry if you would do the same to Byers, if you could ever really control yourself and control the animal you would become. It made you genuinely wonder if you weren’t a threat to everyone that you knew, it made you wonder if you were better off running back to your father’s home and spending your days in isolation and solitude. But then Byers grabbed your hand, and he frowned when you flinched, breath hitching as you dared to look at him. 

“I think I killed someone, Johnny.” 

Byers furrowed his brows as he moved his head back slightly, not exactly sure if he had heard correctly or if he was imagining things, but even still, he swallowed thickly, and tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Last night, a, a guy came up to me, I was out in the field, I snuck off after you left, and I wasn’t gonna be long, I just needed some time,” you started, your voice whimpering and whining as you did your best not to convey how scared you were at the possibility that you had genuinely killed someone, “he… he said his, his name was Krycek.” 

“Alex Krycek?” Byers asked with a hum and not particularly much sympathy if it was. 

“Tall guy,” you whispered, “tall guy, dark hair, sinister look in his eyes.”

“Alex Krycek,” Byers nodded. “He’s… he’s not exactly a good person, (y/n), he’s tried to kill Mulder before.”

“I think I killed him,” you whimpered, suddenly grabbing Byers and pulling him close, burying your head against him. “I lost control…”

“It’s okay,” Byers said, holding you tightly, running his hand up and down your back gently as he cradled you and did his best to reassure you. “We’ll sort this out.” 

Byers was sure that you had met Alex Krycek, and although he could not understand why or where or how, he did also know that Krycek was a far from the least deserving person, but even still, he was more concerned about you; he was more concerned about how scared you were and how you gripped onto him so tightly for comfort and how you seemed… you seemed broken to think that you had lost control as the wolf. That alone killed him. He knew that you had learned and that you had made peace with being a werewolf long ago, you had made peace with it so very long ago that you never really saw it as anything but a part of what made you who you were. Like your hair colour, your eye colour. It was all just a part of what made you who you were, it was all just a part of what made you the man you had become, Byers knew that, and he understood that, which was why, as he held you, he nearly cried himself at the thought that all of your hard work into becoming the man you were and into accepting and making peace with the animal inside you would be shattered, to think that you would curse and hate yourself and that you thought you would be better off running away and going somewhere where he would never see you again - it was killing him to think that you would think such things about yourself. It was truly killing him. But he soon enough pulled away, telling you that he would get to the bottom of it with the help of Mulder and Scully and Doggett and Reyes and Langly and Jimmy and Frohike and Yves and Skinner, with the help of all of yours and his friends, it was going to be easy to get to the bottom of things and to sort them all out and to ensure that things were fine; it didn’t take very long before Fox was racing into the flat with Skinner on his heels, practically shoving Byers out of the way so that they could speak to you. But it was Fox who dared to take charge, and muttered to Skinner that he should talk to Byers instead, and although Skinner didn’t much appreciate being told what to do, in this case, he allowed it to slide, pulling Byers aside and daring to ask him what was going on and what had happened while Fox stayed with you. 

“It was definitely Alex Krycek,” Fox nodded as he listened to you recount the previous night’s events. He felt bad, he knew how hard it was for you to be around Byers every day, let alone how it must have been for you to be around him if you had killed somebody. But he did have good news. “I checked on my way here, Alex Krycek checked into the local hospital not long after the attack, he’s fine… well, broken bones, needs a new hand, but you know. He’ll live.” 

“He’ll live?” You whispered with a slight glimmer of hope. 

“He’ll live,” Fox told you with a little smile. “You’re not gonna get charged with anything, especially considering the fact that he’d checked in with a story about being attacked by an animal.” 

“He didn’t… he didn’t say anything?” You asked quietly, whispering really, unable to stand the sound of your own broken voice. 

“Not that we know,” he admitted with a sigh. “You really got him, (y/n), biting through his hand, crushing his shoulder? You have to teach me how to do that.” 

“Fox…” you grumbled, shaking your head. “Not right now.” 

“Have you thought more about what we talked about yesterday, though?” He asked quietly, wanting to move the conversation to save you from the pain of having to relive your fight with Krycek over and over and over again. He wanted to make things a bit more comfortable. 

“Yeah, I have,” you admitted with a nod. “I’m not gonna tell him.”

Fox’s expression quickly fell to a frown as he furrowed his brows and did his best to understand why you weren’t going to say anything. “Why not?”

“You saw what I did to Krycek,” you said quietly, shaking your head. “You saw how brutal that was. I’m not… not gonna risk hurting John like that, too. I can’t.”

Fox sighed, nodding slowly as he moved to sit beside you, unable to offer words of comfort but able to offer an awkward side-hug as he draped one arm across your shoulders and brought you in close to his side, letting you wrap an arm around him as you dared to smile a little bit. Sometimes an awkward side-hug from your best friend was worth the world’s weight in gold and then some. Sometimes it was the most powerful drug in the world to rid you of your melancholy and your worries. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you’re wearing Byers’ blazer, either,” Fox commented with a soft chuckle. “You should keep it, see if you can talk him into letting you ‘borrow’ it, and then never give it back.” 

“I’m not an asshole like you,” you tittered, shaking your head and rolling your eyes. “I’m only borrowing it for today, and then I’ll wash it and he can have it back.”


	4. Let There Be Night

Mulder and Skinner worked hard to ensure that nothing bad would come of what had happened between you and Krycek, but while you were still processing things, you spent more and more time crushed against Byers, you spent more and more time cuddled into his side and trying your best not to worry about losing control and hurting him, you did your best not to hate yourself for all the brutality you had caused, regardless of whether Fox and Skinner had told you that Krycek had very much deserved it. You tried your best, you honestly did, although you had to admit that such a thing was very hard and almost impossible to come over and to actually end up living with. But despite all of that, Byers seemed to not change around you, he still gave off that sweet scent when you were around, the one that told you that his blood was rushing, the one that gave off pheromones that were just as sweet as the night air on a summer’s day. And while you were relaxing and trying to find some tranquility and to find some peace of mind, Byers had contacted someone that you weren’t expecting to see; you had no idea that Byers had gotten into contact with the person, but you couldn’t say that you hadn’t been expecting it, nor could you say that you weren’t surprised.

It was the early hours of the morning, night was still blanketing over the earth, the half-crescent shaped moon beaming in the sky like a sickly smile with the stars winking above it, and although it was so early, you and Byers were still wide awake, watching old television that starred the very dog Byers had nicknamed you after, Rin Tin Tin; still wide awake and without any hope of sleep coming any time soon, you started to sniff the air when you caught a familiar scent, soon enough stepping on Byers’ chest when you scrambled over the sofa and over him before practically slamming into the door and barking, sniffing at the edges and scratching at the white wood until Byers, smiling a little nervously when he dared to make his way over, opened the door for you, widening his eyes and gawking when you practically pushed him aside to tackle your own father. 

“Hey there, pup,” your father chuckled, hugging you tightly as he dared to grin. “How’s my favourite son doing?”

“I’m your only son,” you pointed out with a soft laugh.

“That’s my point,” he replied, patting your head and rolling his eyes fondly before fully pulling away and nodding. “Look at you. My son, all grown up.” He turned to Byers, then, who had been standing behind you, and he offered him his hand as he said, “not sure why I wasn’t invited to the wedding, but I’m glad that my son found such a loving and doting husband.” 

Byers’ eyes widened again as he gawked, not really sure how to respond to such an accusation, as he had not said anything about being married to you, and he had not even told your father who he was to you aside from a friend, so all he could do was to stand there and gawk before awkwardly shaking your father’s hand at last. “I apologise for the confusion, Sir, but we’re… we aren’t m- married.” 

Your father furrowed his brows, looking between you and Byers for a moment in nothing but confusion before he cleared his throat and took a step back. “Really?”

“Honestly,” Byers nodded. “We’re, uh, we’re not married.” 

“Oh, well,” your father scratched the back of his neck and chuckled. “At least my son has a boyfriend that loves him so much and is so doting.” 

“We’re not dating,” you told him. “Dad, Johnny’s just a friend.” 

“So that’s what the kids call it these days,” your father hummed, clearly not getting what you and Byers were saying, but it didn’t matter.

You and Byers wouldn’t dispute it further, after all, he was an old man, it was unlikely that he would understand. It was unlikely that he would understand that, within Byers’ heart, nighttime was a constant, as every little touch from you sent shivers down his spine and every time you were in the room he couldn’t help but to feel relaxed, but nighttime had fallen and was here to stay, as Byers knew that he could never tell you how much he loved you deep down, he knew that he could never tell you what you meant to him and how he would dream about living in the suburbs with you as your husband and how he would dream of living that white picket fence life with you, he could never tell you, as although you meant the world to him and he would do anything for you, he could never tell you how he felt, and he had to keep his heart in eternal darkness because of it. It was unlikely that he would ever understand that, within your heart, the sun never rose up and there was a constant night, as every little touch from Byers made you feel as if you had been electrocuted and every time he was in the room you couldn’t help but to feel on edge and worry that you were going to lose control, night had taken over your heart for the foreseeable future and beyond, as you knew that you could never tell Byers how much you loved him so deeply and purely and truly, you could never tell him, as although he meant the world to you and you would do anything to protect him, you could never tell him how you felt, and you knew it was the best thing to do, you knew the consequences of telling him, and they weren’t something you wanted to pay, they weren’t something you wanted him to pay.

So, with an awkward glance at Byers, you lead your father inside, sitting down with him on the sofa. Byers naturally took the seat beside you, his arm stretched over the back and behind you. 

“Dad, what are you doing here?” You asked, searching his face for any sign of a clue that could have told you what was going on and why he was here. 

Byers knew better than to speak, preferring to stay quiet and to allow you and your father to have a few moments without him putting himself into the conversation, he leaned forward for a moment to grab a newspaper, and after crossing one leg over the other at the knee, he began to thumb through the broadsheet papers. He would mind his business until he was spoken to. 

“I got a call,” your father explained, “I was told that you’d been attacked by someone. I came down the second I heard, pup, I am so sorry, I-” 

“Woah,” you chuckled, shaking your head and frowning a little as you looked at the man that had raised you, the man that you idolised and would always and did always hold as your hero. “Dad, that’s… no, you don’t have to apologise. If anything, it’s my fault, I mean, I haven’t visited you in so long and-” 

“You’re my son,” your father said gently, shaking his head. “You are my son, (y/n), no matter how long you go without visiting, you know I’m always gonna come running when I hear my boy’s in trouble - now, do you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

You shook your head, lunging forward and leaning on your father, pressing your forehead against his chest as you gripped onto him tightly and sniffled, letting out a whimper as you shook your head again and again. Your father knew that that meant that you never wanted to talk about the subject again, and he was accepting and tolerating of it, simply rubbing your back and letting out a soft whimper as he angled himself so that he could kiss the back of your head, letting you know that he was there, he was there and he wasn’t going to pressure you to talk, he was there and he wasn’t going to fault you for not opening up about something that he knew very well was traumatic for you; out of the corner of his eye, Byers looked over, and frowned a little when he looked back at his newspaper. He really hoped that having your father around would help you to feel better and to possibly even make peace with what had happened out in the field, but all the same, his hopes weren’t exactly high. He knew that what had happened had shaken you up, and he wasn’t expecting you to just suddenly get over it and to move on. He didn’t expect you to, and he never would. He wanted you to take things at your own pace, but all the same, he was willing to bring in as much support from your loved ones as he could, he was willing to reach out for support and for unconditional love from your family if it was something that you needed - and judging by the way you had reacted to seeing your father, it seemed as if you did. 

“Now,” your father pushed you away just enough to look into your eyes, a kindly smile on his face as he gently patted your cheek and raised his brows. “Where’s your little friend?” 

You tilted your head, furrowing your brows as you stared at him blankly for a moment, not knowing what he meant in the slightest and thinking who he could have possibly meant. “Which one?”

“Fox, of course!” Your father grinned with a shrug, looking around the flat for a moment before turning back to you and scratching the side of his head. “You are still friends, right?”

“Yeah, no, we’re still friends,” you nodded, sparing a glance at Byers for a moment before turning back to your father. “But he’s got his own flat… things are weird at the moment, Dad, I mean, it’s fucking hard as shit to explain, but- Johnny, do you think you can explain? You know I’m shit at this fucking stuff.” 

“O- of course,” Byers agreed, clearing his throat and sitting upright, folding his hands in his lap as he looked at your father, a little scared when you got up to make coffee for yourself and for your father and for him. He thought for a moment before nodding to himself. “You see, Mister (y/l/n), I work for a newspaper called The Lone Gunman, we expose the truth and conspiracy theories that we believe that the people should know about. I work with three associates, Jimmy Bond, Melvin Frohike, and Ringo Langly.” 

“Fox introduced me to them,” you called from behind the counter, offering Byers a thumbs up and a smile. 

Smiling back at you for a second too long, Byers turned back to your father. “Yes, uh, Agent Mulder introduced us to your son a long time ago… (y/n)’s even helped us on a few of our articles.” 

“I never took my son for a journalist,” your father chuckled, looking quite proud of you for doing something like that, for working for a newspaper like the Lone Gunman. He couldn’t help but to feel a swell of pride in his chest. 

“I’m not,” you called back, rolling your eyes fondly. “I just help for the same reason I help Fox and Skinner every now and then.” 

“You see, Sir, me and my associates have a… little rat problem at our office at the moment,” Byers explained, “and your son was kind enough to let me stay here until the problem’s fixed. My associates are staying with Agent Mulder, Agent Scully and a trusted friend, Yves, at the moment.” 

“Right, okay,” your father nodded, but he could tell that that was not the entire story. 

“Assistant Director Skinner, before we realised we had a rat problem at the office, sent us over to check on (y/n),” Byers continued, “he was worried, so we came over, and then… then, the other night, (y/n) was attacked by a man, a former FBI agent, that goes by the name of Alex Krycek. (Y/N) walked away just fine, don’t worry, but Krycek… let’s just say that he got what he deserves.”

“Okay,” your father nodded again, processing all the information as he sucked in a harsh breath and closed his eyes for a second. “Did you say Skinner?”

“Yes, Sir,” Byers nodded back. 

“Fucking Walt,” your father chuckled, nearly grinning as he raised his brows. “Y’know, when I told him to look after my boy, I didn’t think he would have so much help - so… thank you. You and your friends, all of you, actually, thank you.” 

You brought the mugs over, setting two of them down on the coffee table before sitting on the floor between Byers’ legs with your own, leaning against his calf as you took a swig from the hot mug. “I’m a fucking grown man, Dad, I don’t need looking after.” 

Looking down at you, Byers shrugged as he dared to be a bit bold and to try and swing some banter your way. “Last night you ran into a closed glass door.” 

“I thought it was open!” You whined in protest, flashing him the puppy dog eyes as you looked up at him. 

“I know you’re a grown man,” your father said with a sigh. “But you’re still my son, and even though I can’t be around all the time, it is my job as a father to protect you and to keep you safe. That job doesn’t run out just because you’re an adult, pup.”

You smiled as you nodded, humming lowly as you pressed yourself into Byers’ leg, letting him firmly planted his foot on the carpet so that he wouldn’t accidentally cause you to fall, so that he could be the nighttime silence amongst the noise and so that he could be the leaning post. 

“Mister (y/l/n), I know this is a lot to process,” Byers said, causing you to grumble in agreement. “But it would be very much appreciated if you could stay in town for a while.”

“To be fair, yeah,” you concurred. “It’d be great if you’d stick around for a while, Dad, I mean, I’d love to introduce you to mine and Fox’s mates, aside from John here.” 

“I can book a hotel room,” your father agreed with a soft growl, he stretched and yawned, though, wincing a little at the arthritis that had settled in his bones after years of wear and tear. “But it’s getting late, and you two pups need to get some sleep - so I’ll leave you to it for now. Okay?”

You saw your father to the door, giving him a final hug and making him promise that he would contact you the second that he was at the hotel room, but then he asked Byers to show him to his car, and Byers, being the polite gentleman as always, agreed without hesitation; things were quiet between the two as they trudged down the stairs and out into the car park, but your father soon enough cleared his throat and turned to Byers with a half-smile. 

“You seem like a pleasant young man,” he started, “and I’ve no doubt that my (y/n) adores you, I can see it in his eyes, but… well, I gotta admit, pup, I don’t think you should continue things if you’re not serious.” 

“W- what do you mean?” Byers asked with a hint of blushing across his features, thankfully hidden due to the cloudy and dark night. 

Your father rested his aching arm across Byers’ shoulders, shaking his head. “I mean, you two seem like you really love each other, and if I loved someone half as much as you two did, I would pop the question… now, you don’t have to ask for my permission, because it doesn’t matter, but if you want it, you have it.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Byers admitted with a frown. “Me and (y/n) are just friends, Sir.”

“But you love him,” your father stated, not needing confirmation, he could smell it on Byers the second he had drawn close enough, the second he was within a mile of Byers, he could smell it. “Don’t you?”

Byers nodded, sighing heavily as he scratched at his chin. “I do.”

“So tell him,” your father shrugged. 

“It’s not that simple, Mister (y/l/n),” Byers sadly confessed, leaning against your father’s worn down and rusty and beaten up old truck with a shrug. “I wish it was, but it isn’t… there’s so much standing in the way, for a start, and to tell (y/n) now would… it wouldn’t be right.” 

“I understand that,” your father hummed, nodding for a second. “You know, I was in love once.”

“You were?” Byers hummed, raising a brow. 

“I was,” your father began, “she was amazing, if I’m honest. Strong, stoic, stunning. She could outdrink you and eat a whole thing of ribs before you could even think about challenging her. She was amazing.”

“What happened?” Byers asked softly, tilting his head to the side. 

“We were friends,” your father explained, “we were friends, and you know, she was someone who’d been there for me through a lot, and I trusted her so much, and I felt like every time she walked into the room, I was going to be fine. She was the only one who could ever control my temper, too, she was the only one who could ever calm me down, but… well, I missed my shot, pup, I never told her how I felt and she moved away, and a few years later, (y/n) was born, and I decided that, y’know, I’d rather focus on my son and making sure that he has a good life and a good future instead of trying to chase after old flames. I told myself I wouldn’t let him make the same mistake if he ever found someone like that, I don’t want him to go through the same pain I did… so I’m telling you, kid, as soon as you know it’s the right time, you tell my son that you love him, and you don’t let no one or nothing stand in the way of that, y’understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Byers nodded, although he could not help but to realise that your father’s love had something in common with him, being able to control a werewolf’s temper. He allowed your father to leave, though, and as soon as he drove off, Byers made the lonely ascent back to your flat, trying to muster up a smile as he walked through the door and shut it and locked it behind him.

He smiled when he saw you snuggling into his blazer, pressing your nose into the fabric, and all he could do was to gently run his fingers along your skin from your temple to your jaw as he grabbed the empty coffee cups and went to go wash them up. 

“Johnny?” You hummed, yawning and sitting up again, blinking tiredly and sighing. 

“I’m here, Rin Tin Tin,” Byers answered from the sink, the sound of the tap running gently and bubbles fizzing in the water. “You can go to sleep, it’s okay.”

You shook your head, grumbling lowly and sighing heavily. “You know I can’t sleep without you…”

“Okay, I’m coming.” he sighed softly, smiling a little as he left the cups to soak in the sink until morning, which was only a couple of hours away, now, but he didn’t mind so much as he turned the main light off and wriggled onto the sofa; he allowed you to drape yourself across his chest, your mouth so close to his that he could feel your breath for a moment.

He was caught off guard when you planted your mouth on his, though, but while you didn’t kiss him, what made him stiffen up and furrowed his brows with confusion was when you licked the inside of his mouth as if it was nothing before deciding that you could finally snuggle down with your face pressed against his throat again. He did his best to think of if anyone had said anything about such a behaviour before, and he did remember that Fox had told him that sometimes you would just randomly lick the inside of his mouth for no reason, and that it was a very common behaviour for werewolves, the same as putting your mouth on his was fairly common and to be somewhat expected. Byers knew that everyone would laugh if he told them, and he was too polite to ask you what that was about, and it was a common thing, so he didn’t think too much into it; instead, he simply shifted a little to get comfortable enough before he lazily draped one arm around your waist, his other hand going to the back of your neck as he closed his eyes and escaped to the dreams that he held so dear to him. Dreams about how nice it would have been to be able to wake up in a marital bed with you, the only worry in the world being who would make breakfast and who would make coffee, he dared to dream about how nice it would have been to eat breakfast at the table together while he read the paper and you stole the word search section to scribble the answers down. He was bold enough to dream about the goodbye kisses before he went to work at the office, the ones where you would stop him at the door and tell him he forgot something only to grab him and kiss him and wish him luck. He reveled in the sweet dreams about the hello kisses when he could come home from the office, the ones where he would be the one to pull you close and to kiss you, not daring to say a word until you broke away. He allowed himself to dream about the goodnight kisses when he was in bed with you, rubbing his nose against yours for a moment before stealing a quick kiss as he held you tight and close to his body. He dared to dream a little dream about the good morning kisses when he woke up to mornings just like this, mornings where he was holding you and you were sleeping soundly with him, he thought about good morning kisses where he could wake you up with a soft and slow and somewhat sloppy kiss and tell you he loved you so that it was the very first thing you would hear in the mornings.

Mornings were so awful, mornings were awful simply for the fact that the night had become a sanctuary for Byers, it had become the time where he could feel just as important as Spider-Man or as Superman, but the mornings were always a reminder that he was nothing more than Peter Parker or Clark Kent; he was a nobody, and he wasn’t important. The work he did was important, he knew that, and he knew of the importance of his work, getting the truth out there to the people and exposing the government - that was more than important. But when it came to the nights, Byers was able to hold you and to keep you close and to feel like you needed him, and while he dreamed a little dream of that life in the suburbs with you, he could indulge in a fantasy that he knew would never come true and he could think of all the good things that will never be; and the mornings took that away from him. And this morning took it away from him more violently than the others, this morning, he was torn from you by the thunderous sound of banging on your front door, and while you were reluctant to move, snuggling into Byers even further and telling him not to answer, he could not give into such a temptation, and promised that he would be back before you knew it as he moved to swing his legs over the side of the bed, sighing heavily and rubbing his face with his hands while you snuck up behind him, pressing your face into the back of his neck and whining softly. 

“Ignore it,” you pleaded, nuzzling into the back of his neck and causing his breath to hitch and his throat to feel clogged and thick as he did his best not to agree, not to let you touch his chest for fear that if your fingers ran along his skin, he would break and he would give into the temptation to spend the day in bed with you. “C’mon, Johnny, just… just stay in bed, it’s not one of the guys because Skinner made sure that everyone has a fucking key.” 

“It could be important,” Byers argued softly, leaning his head against yours when you rested your chin on his shoulder, he did really want to give into that temptation and he did really want to spend the day in bed with you, more than anything he did, and more than anything would he have loved to indulge in that aspect of his fantasy, spending lazy days in bed with you, but all the same, he knew that the insistent pounding on the door wasn’t going to go away, so he sighed, and reluctantly pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment. “I won’t be long, Rin Tin Tin, promise.” 

“Alright,” you agreed with a whimper, lying on what was now his side of the bed as he went to go answer the door, quickly tugging on a pair of trousers and a shirt and a blazer, not bothering to do up the top two buttons of his shirt, after all, it was probably something important, and he could be forgiven for being a little bit scruffy this once. But while Byers had every hope that it was something urgent and something important so that he wasn’t wasting his time, wasting time that he could spend with you, he was shocked when he opened the door, though, letting out a yelp as he was viciously yanked into the hallway and shoved up against the wall. 

With wide eyes and his mouth agape, Byers struggled to speak as he looked at the older man; standing at around six foot two, with grey hair and a clean shaven face he easily held Byers against the wall with one hand, the other searching his blazer pocket for something before pulling out a packet of Morley cigarettes and lighting one up, looking at Byers with a glare so cold that it could freeze fire. He stank of stale beer and stale cigarettes.

“Don’t move,” the cigarette smoking man said icily, breathing smoke into Byers’ face as he took a step back, but his glare was enough to keep Byers pinned to the spot, his breathing harsh. “John Fitzgerald Byers, date of birth the twenty-second of November, nineteen sixty-three. Formerly an employee of the Federal Communications Commission, but now an investigative reporter for The Lone Gunman newspaper, along with your associates, Richard Langly, Melvin Frohike and James Bond.”

Byers swallowed thickly, not exactly sure what to do as he looked around helplessly, wanting to call out for you but knowing that he couldn’t, as he couldn’t put your life at risk like that, as although there was neither a gun nor a knife pointed at his face, he knew that the man before him was dangerous, and that to get you involved with only cause you harm, would only put you in the risk of death and torture and misery; Byers could never deal with such a consequence, he could never allow himself to put you at risk like that, so he stayed silent, and did his best to calm his nerves and to look braver than he actually felt. 

He managed to gather up enough bravery to ask a single question, “who are you?”

“That doesn’t matter,” the cigarette smoking man replied, flicking ash at Byers’ feet as he shook his head. “What matters is that this is a warning.”

Byers furrowed his brows, but could not gather up more bravery or courage to ask another question, he was breathless and helpless and powerless and he knew it. 

The cigarette smoking man tilted his head to the side slightly, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “You would be wise not to get too close, Mister Byers, and not to allow your friends to do the same. You would be wise to not look further into the attempt on Mister (y/l/n)’s life.” 

Byers shook his head in disbelief, about to open his mouth and to say something when the cigarette smoking man flicked the end of his cigarette at Byers, causing him to wince and to recoil and to flinch as the older man started to walk away; with a heavy sigh, though, Byers ran a hand down his face, trembling as he thought about what he was supposed to do. Telling you would mean putting you at risk, as surely if the cigarette smoking man knew about you threatening Byers, then he would surely hurt you, he would surely rip out your heart and force you to eat it. Byers stood there for a few moments, trying to ignore the racing of his heart and how his hands trembled along with how his breath came out shallow and shaky, he tried his best to calm himself down despite the panicked look in his eyes that could only be described as much the same way that a deer looked before it was hit by a car; but eventually, he managed to calm himself down enough to reenter the flat, putting on a false smile. 

“Who was it?” You asked softly, tilting your head to the side as you flashed him a curious smile. 

Byers shrugged, taking off his blazer and laying it on the back of the sofa as he sat with one leg over the other at the knee, swallowing thickly as he tried to think of a decent enough lie; he laid his arm across the back of the sofa, turned to you with a fake sense of calm. “Oh, it was nothing, just a delivery for your neighbour, I put it through their letter box, though.”

He stank of fear, although you didn’t know why, and it pained you to think that he was scared of something so terribly that you could smell it on him like sweat, making you furrow your brows as you frowned, knowing that he was lying but not quite knowing why; the stench of fear made your stomach drop and your head spin, causing you to swallow down whatever form of vomit of phlegm was forming in your throat and threatening to spill from your lips. “Johnny, I know you’re lying.”

Wide eyed and quiet, Byers sat there for a moment, not really sure how to tell you what had happened and more than reluctant to do so on the basis that you would be put in danger if he did, but he knew that he couldn’t lie about it, he knew that he couldn’t lie to you just as you could never lie to him; it made him bite the inside of his lip, chewing at the soft flesh as he sighed and swallowed thickly, not really sure what he was supposed to do, not really sure what he was supposed to say to such a thing. 

“He threatened you, didn’t he?” You asked softly, quietly, after more than a few moments of nothing but silence. But then there was a growl to your voice as you dared to question, “that fucking cigarette smoking cunt threatened you, didn’t he?”

Byers could only nod as he dared to look into your eyes, hunching over slightly and sighing heavily, he felt awful, as he knew what you knowing the truth meant. “(y/n)...”

“No!” You snapped, standing up with a snarl, shaking your head and tilting your head back slightly so that you could smell the air. Stale beer and stale cigarettes from outside. “I’m gonna hunt that fucking bastard down and I’m gonna-”

“Hey,” Byers stood up, then, looking at you with such a tender gaze as he swallowed thickly. “It’s okay.”

“No it fucking isn’t!” You howled, a wolfish colouring to your eyes as you started to pace. A wolf trapped in a small cage. A constant growl in the back of your throat. “He fucking threatened you! Do you fucking realise how-”

“Look at me,” Byers said gently, placing one hand at the back of your neck and pulling you in close so that your forehead was against his and you could do nothing but look into his eyes, his other hand resting on your shoulder as he kept you still and steady. "Look at me, it's okay."

"It's not fucking okay, he fucking threatened you," you snarled, trying to violently pull away and to chase after the cigarette smoking man, but Byers' grip was gentle, gentle enough to keep you focused on his eyes. He didn't say anything for a moment, trying to get you to breathe with him, starting out harsh and heavy, panting like a dog until you slowly started to breathe slowly and steadily, finally letting out a sigh.

"Trust me, it's okay," Byers whispered, so quiet that nobody else would ever be able to hear it or understand it, he had your full attention and focus, as if he had blown a dog whistle that violently yanked all of your attention to him. "Trust me, we'll figure something out. Okay?"

You lifted your hands up, gently cupping his face as you nodded, finally calm enough that he could let you go, but he didn't, he knew that you didn't want to let go in that moment; so instead, he sat back down on the sofa, letting you stick to his side like glue, letting you look at him every now and then as if he was the only thing in the world that could ever keep you calm, the only thing in the world that could stop you from losing your control. You allowed yourself to accept the hope that he would help you to figure something out, although you still refused to tell him about the fact that the cigarette smoking man had also threatened you, and that he had done so with nothing more than a silver bullet, a single bullet that could have ended your life with just one little pull of the trigger; you couldn’t allow Byers to know about that, you knew all too well what the consequences of such a thing would be, you could keep it to yourself for a while, you could protect him more if he didn’t know about it. But even still, threatening you was one thing, but threatening Byers, threatening the man you loved, was an entirely different thing, and not one that you could let go of, not one that you could so easily ignore. But as you sat there thinking, the cigarette smoking man’s question rattled around in your head, his sickly voice making your stomach churn and causing you to force down a heave as your throat once again threatened to push up the contents of your own stomach. 

“Mister (y/l/n), when a dog goes rabid, what do you do with it? You shoot it, right between the eyes.”

That was a risk you were willing to take, though, that was a risk you were very much willing to take if it meant that Byers would be safe from that cigarette smoking asshole; you would quite eagerly give up your own life and take a silver bullet between the eyes so long as it meant that Byers would be safe, so long as it meant that he could live peacefully and have a chance at being happy. Yes, you would quite happily and willingly offer your life for his. 

The news was broken to Fox within a few hours, and he had vowed not to tell anyone else, although by the fact that he looked away when he promised, you knew that that was a lie; he had only come over to check on you, both, and you and Byers had both promised to tell him to try and find a solution, a way out of the small cage you were trapped behind. But Fox couldn’t help but to notice that there was something else hanging in the air, a confession that had not yet been brought to light, the truth that lingered in the air but that someone didn’t want to admit. 

“You met him,” Fox said suddenly after putting two and two together, looking at you with nothing but betrayal. “You met that son of a bitch, too.” 

“Yeah, maybe I did,” you sighed, shrugging and looking down at the floor, muttering beneath your breath as you shook your head and stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “But that’s not important, right now, Fox.”

“That’s why you’ve been dragged into this, Byers,” Fox explained, looking at your companion for a second before turning back to you. “What did he say to you, (y/n)?”

“It’s not important,” you grumbled, not wanting to admit what had happened, not wanting to snarl and to admit that your life was on the line. “It’s not important, so drop it.”

“Rin Tin Tin,” Byers said softly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and crushing you into his side, letting you cling onto him, one hand on his hip, the other on his chest as you pressed your forehead into him. “Come on, it’s us, you can trust us. You can trust me.”

“Please,” Fox added with a melancholic sigh. “Tell us, (y/n).”

“He came into Skinner’s office,” you started, reluctant and hesitant to actually tell the truth, “he knew shit about me, about my dad… and he had a silver bullet.”

Fox and Byers shared a look, wide eyes and fearful frowns before they encouraged you to speak again. 

“He asked what you do with a rabid dog,” you choked back a sob. “And he said you shoot it right between the eyes, but… he said that the only thing keeping me safe was you, Fox.” 

Fox swallowed thickly, nodding slowly before he shook his head and looked over at Byers for a second. He turned his attention back to you, and frowned. “That explains why Krycek went after you.”

“He didn’t know,” you whispered, shaking your head. “That… that Krycek motherfucker, he didn’t know that I-”

Able to somehow sense that your stress levels were rising again, Byers gently rubbed your back with one hand, shaking his head for a second as he quietly shushed you. “It’s okay, you don’t need to say anything more.” He turned to Fox with a pained look. “What do we do, Mulder?”

“I think I know where we’ll all be safe for a while,” Fox admitted, biting at his lip. “(y/n), does your dad still have that cabin?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, your voice trembling. “Why?”

“Gather the Gunmen,” Fox told Byers. “I’ll get Scully and Doggett and Reyes,” he turned to you. “You grab Skinner, and we’ll meet up at your dad’s cabin.”

“Fox…” you pleaded, shaking your head. “We can’t drag my dad into this, as well.”

“He won’t be,” Fox promised you with a stoic and sympathetic look. “I promise, your dad won’t know anything. We’ll tell him it’s a case or something.”

“He’s in town,” you pointed out with a whimpering whine. “How the fuck are we meant to just up and leave him like this?”

“Shit…” Fox ran a hand through his hair, going to grab himself a cup of coffee from your cupboards as he did his best to think, but while he was trying to figure things out, Byers looked at you, and frowned. 

“We’ll have a plan,” he promised, daring to gently kiss your forehead. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t see why I can’t just fucking hunt that cigarette smoking cunt down and sort him out myself,” you admitted, a snarl behind the whine in your voice. “Same with that Krycek motherfucker.” 

“You could get hurt if you did,” Byers said softly, an almost whimper in his voice as he shook his head. “And I… we can’t let that happen.” 

“But what if you get hurt?” You asked, fidgeting to get a little closer, craving that contact as you shifted to stand in front of him, pressing your face into his throat as you whined softly. “What if you get hurt because of me?”

“I won’t,” he replied, “no one will get hurt.” For a few seconds, he paused, letting out a soft sigh as he rubbed your arm a little harder, if only to reassure you that he was still holding on and that he was still very much there for you. “Everyone’s going to make sure that no one’s going to get hurt. We’ll protect each other. I promise.” 

But his promise meant more than that, as although Byers knew very well that you could have easily broken his ribs by nothing but sheer accident, as although he knew that, when you shifted, you were capable of fighting off pretty much anyone, Byers would do anything in his power to protect you; sure, Jimmy had said he wasn’t the fighting type before, and he definitely knew that he wasn’t and that the fights were better off left to those who could handle them, but for you… for you, Byers was willing to try, at least. He was willing to at least try to fight for you, to protect you. Even though he knew that it was more likely that you would do the fighting, he would try. 

“I think I have a plan,” Fox said suddenly, looking at you and Byers with more than regret as he sighed and took a swig from his coffee. He didn’t bother to make anyone else one. “But we’re gonna need Skinner for this, too.” 

“I’ll give him a call,” you sighed, nodding as you made your way over to the phone and rang your uncle, giving Fox some time to pull Byers aside. 

“I’m worried,” Fox admitted. “I know that (y/n) isn’t doing too great with everything that’s going on, but… this is going to take a lot of time.” 

“What do you mean?” Byers asked, sparing a glance over at you before turning back to the agent. “Is he going to be okay?”

“We’re gonna need to make sure that we’re all hidden,” Fox explained, “Cancer-Man and Krycek don’t know where the cabin is, but if they can trace us there…” 

“Me and Frohike and Langly can handle that,” Byers nodded. “We’ll need Yves, too, but we can handle that.” 

“Good,” Fox grumbled. “Me, Doggett, Reyes and Scully can handle some of the other things, but…” 

“But?” Byers swallowed thickly, able to feel his hands shake as he stuffed them into his pockets. 

“But Doggett and Scully don’t know about the whole…” Fox growled like a dog. 

Byers couldn’t help but to bring one hand from his pocket, covering his mouth as he gulped, nodding slowly. “What do you suggest we do, Mulder?”

“I don’t know,” Fox sighed, shaking his head. “But if Skinner can talk to (y/n)’s dad, and they can sort something out, then maybe… maybe we can all get to the cabin and lay low while we try and think of something.” 

“I’ll go and grab the guys,” Byers said, sparing another glance at you as he frowned, he wanted to break and to tell you how he felt, he really did, as he feared that he would not get an opportunity to do so otherwise. But he knew that there were bigger things at stake, and that he would have to wait. “We’ll meet up here with the van.” 

“Good plan,” Fox agreed, pulling out his wallet and taking out a couple of twenty pound notes, he pressed them into Byers’ hand and smiled weakly. “Fuel money. You’re gonna need it.” 

But Fox watched as Byers made his way over to you, leaning down with one hand on your shoulder and muttering something, pulling back once you had muttered something back and nipped at the side of his ear, which made him smile sadly before he quietly left, giving Fox a curt nod and a weak smile; Byers was a brave man, there was no doubt about that, and when the door shut, Fox waited for you to finish the phone call before he finally sat beside you on the sofa and cleared his throat. 

“Skinner’s in,” you told him with a nod. “He’s gonna grab Dad and they’re gonna head over to the cabin and make sure that it’s safe.” 

“Byers has gone to get the Gunmen,” Fox told you. “They’re gonna meet us back here.” 

“Okay, good,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair and growling lowly. “Fuck, why can’t shit ever go right for once? Why does some cunt always have to come along and fuck everything up?”

Laying his arm across your shoulders, Fox shrugged. “It should be a good while before everything’s sorted… wanna go for a run?”

“More than fucking anything,” you agreed, heading into your room and gently closing the door. 

For a few moments, all Fox heard were agonising screams and the crunching of bone, and then silence, and then scratching at the door; he opened it, and smiled; trudging down to the main lobby of your block of flats, Fox let you out through the back door, although you did stand at about his hip, he knew that you were as long as he was tall from the tip of the nose to the tip of the tail; he had no doubt that you would have been able to best him in a race, but he didn’t mind as he allowed you to follow him through the back alleys and through a few spots of the woods until you reached the top of the steepest hill. Stretching, Fox looked down at you as you stretched your front legs out into the dirt, raising your tail and wagging it as you looked back up at him. 

“Ready?” 

A quiet bark escaped from your throat before Fox took off running down the hill, skidding here and there and stumbling, nearly falling over as you pounded the dirt and easily overtook him, reaching the bottom of the hill before, once again, doing the play bow as you watched Fox clumsily run down the hill, but when he reached you, you took off running back up it, your tongue hanging out of your mouth as you began to pant and to breathe heavily. When Fox reached the top of the hill, he bent over, resting his hands on his thighs as he began to pant and to breathe heavily, his skin soaked with sweat and his face red. You huffed, waiting for him to sit down before you draped yourself across his lap and looked over at the sky; Fox leaned back on his hands, letting the cold grass cool the skin of his palms as he caught his breath. It was quiet, the birds singing in the trees, but as a rabbit crossed the hill without a care in the world, you perked up, snarling, your lips curling to expose large fangs. You let out a low growl, and before Fox could even try to grab you, you were off chasing the rabbit; he knew you weren’t going to hurt it, but something instinctive within you was forcing you to chase it around the hill. He watched for a few moments, shaking his head and smiling a little to himself before you dared to return, those wolfish eyes holding his gaze for a moment before you huffed and wandered off into the nearby bushes; Fox didn’t dare to ask what you were doing, but he was grateful to be able to take his mind away from everything that was going on, even if only for a few moments, and he was sure that you were grateful for it, too. 

There were moments to waste when you got back to your little flat, though, Fox waiting on the sofa while you changed back and got dressed, moments to waste as he kept an eye on the door and waited for it to open and for someone to walk in; but those moments went on slowly until you walked into the room and draped yourself across the back of the sofa, your legs on either side of the cushions, your arms folded in front of you as you looked at the door and sighed. 

“Where are they?” You asked with a whine, shaking your head and grumbling, letting Fox move over so that he was sat on the cushion closest to the door. “Surely they should’ve been here by now… what if he got to ‘em, Fox? What if that cigarette smoking bastard got to them and killed them? What if-” 

But then the door opened, and the five people you had been waiting to see walked in; Langly was first, walking right up to you and ruffling your hair as they smiled. 

“Hey there, Snoopy,” they chuckled, rolling their sleeves up as they made their way over to the counter and sat up on it. “Hey, Mulder, come check this out.” 

Mulder went over to where Langly was sitting as Frohike dared to be the next to greet you, tilting his head up as he dared to sit on the other end of the sofa. “Scooby.” 

“Frohike,” you smiled, sliding off of the back of the sofa and landing on your carpet with a soft thud. You stood up, patting his head as you walked around the sofa and towards the door, letting Jimmy in next, who grabbed you tightly and pulled you into a hug so tight that it made your eyes pop as you gently pushed him away and tapped his cheek. “Good to see you, Jimmy.” 

“Byers told us what happened,” Jimmy frowned, looking like a kicked puppy. “I’m sorry we weren’t there.”

“It’s fine,” you reassured, shaking your head and smiling at him. “Honestly, Jimmy, it’s fine… go sit down, though, I’m sure you guys must be starving.” 

Jimmy wandered over to the sofa, sitting down by Frohike; having not seen her for a while, the second Yves was about to greet you, you practically tackled her in a hug, which made her hold her hands up and scowl as she rolled her eyes and pretended as if it wasn’t nice to see you again. She patted your hat after a while and pushed you away with a wry chuckle. 

“(y/n).” 

“Yves,” you grinned. “Thank you, for helping, I mean, and for offering-” 

“It’s alright,” she said calmly, coolly. “But please tell me you have coffee.” 

“Yeah, it’s in the cupboard over there,” you told her, pointing over to where you kept the mugs and the sugar and the coffee and the tea and the hot chocolate and everything else. 

And then there was Byers. He was a little more than nervous, daring to reach out for your hand and to allow you to hold onto his fingers before he gently pulled you in closer; your free arm went around his waist as you pressed your forehead in the crook between his neck and his shoulder, his free hand going to sit between your shoulder blades, keeping you close as you breathed in his scent, slowly letting go of his fingers. With his hand now free, Byers wrapped his arm around you, just below your shoulders, keeping you against him as you dared to let your free arm coil around his waist as well. A few moments of silence passed, Frohike and Yves and Langly and Fox and Jimmy all talking about what was going to happen with the plan, they figured they would all allow you and Byers some short sweet seconds together before they would interrupt. They knew what it meant to you both. 

“Gentlemen,” Yves cleared her throat as she looked at you and Byers, something sad hidden in her eyes that stated that she clearly didn’t want to interrupt the moment and that she almost wanted to leave things. But she had no choice as she sighed and folded her arms across her chest. “I hate to break up such a wonderful moment, but we should get going.” 

“Yves is right,” Langly agreed, running a hand through their hair as they dared to slide off of the edge of the counter. “If we’re gonna head to your dad’s cabin, we best get going.” 

Byers was driving the van as you sat in the front seat, your feet resting on the dashboard which he didn’t think to tell you off about it; Jimmy and Frohike and Langly were in Yves’ car, and after picking them up, Fox was driving with Scully and Doggett and Reyes while your father and Skinner took the former’s truck. They had the lead, with Fox’s car following behind, Yves’ car in the middle, and the clunky old mystery machine of a van packing up the rear. It was going to be a long drive to the cabin, especially considering the fact that there was no doubt that you would need to stop for food and for something to drink, as well as rest breaks and switching drivers every one or two hours. You didn’t mind it so much, in fact, you were quite enjoying singing along to the radio and smoking cigarettes and letting Byers make you laugh as he did his best to try and take your mind off of why exactly everyone was suddenly up and temporarily moving to your father’s cabin; you didn’t mind so much when you moved to the middle seat and allowed Byers to rest his hand on your knee, in fact, you were quite keen on the possibility of moving his hand up to your thigh until you decided not to, until you realised that it would cause you to lose control and to say something that you should have kept to yourself and should have buried deep down inside of you and should have kept as a secret; so, you lit up a cigarette, and you stared out of the window as you smoked it, but you soon moved so that your head was out of the window, the fast paced cold air hitting your face as you dared to smoke and to smile. Byers would look over at you every now and then while you did so, a small smile on his face as he dared to think to himself how much he would have enjoyed the road trip under any other circumstance, how much he would have enjoyed being out on the road with you, singing the songs that came on the radio, letting you smoke cigarettes that he hated but would allow you to keep indulging in your vices, letting you stick your head out of the window and feel the air on your face and the wind in your hair. It would have been a nice time, if not for the painful reminder that you were running from something, that you were running from the possibility of getting hurt or killed. That you were running to try and save your own skins; but while you and Byers were having your own little crisis in the van, Fox was trying to explain what was happening to Scully and Doggett and Reyes, which proved to be a lot more difficult than he had once thought, as he knew that it was going to be a struggle to explain something when he was leaving large chunks out of the story, poor Fox was having his own little crisis as he did his best to explain things as much as he possibly could. In Yves’ car, though, Frohike and Langly were attempting to cover up every single little digital trace of evidence that they could, trying to hide where everyone was going and why and when, trying to hide whatever they could in hopes that no one would follow the group and that no one would say anything about it, either, which wasn’t too bad, it kept them quiet while Yves and Jimmy talked… well, while Jimmy talked and Yves pretended to listen. Finally, though, at the front of the group, the head of the snake, your father and Skinner were having an alright time, if they were honest; listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival and Bruce Springsteen and Bob Dylan songs on old cassette tapes, quite comfortable with the windows rolled down and the truck rolling along the road, both of them looking the miles and miles of asphalt and paint that made up the road. Under different circumstances, it would have been a nice little drive, a nice road trip, but all the same, Skinner couldn’t help but to be weighed down and to turn to melancholy when constantly reminded by the fact that your father, who was happy as he tapped the steering wheel with the beat of the song and hummed softly every now and then, had no idea what was really happening; and although Skinner did want to tell his friend the truth, although he did want to admit that the entire plot to go to the cabin and to spend a few days there was simply because he was trying to protect a friend as well as his nephew. Skinner was having very much the same dilemma that Fox was, although the only thing that kept him able to get through it was the knowledge that the people he cared about would be safe. 

But back in the van, you had finally decided to speak up, turning to Byers with a soft smile. “Hey, I guess now I can finally show you where me and Fox used to hang out in the summer.” 

“Really?” Byers hummed, sparing a glance at you for a second before turning his eyes back on the road. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, leaning forward to turn the radio up a little as ‘Unchained Melody’ by Sam Cooke came on, making you hum softly as you leaned into your seat and lazily looked over at your companion. “I mean, sure, we might all fucking die because some cigarette smoking cunt’s decided to go after us, but… at least we can have some fun, right?”

Byers nodded, although slightly concerned by the fact that you were so ready and so willing to give up. “Is there anything else you want me to know about your father’s cabin?”

“Well, there’s the fact that he grows his own weed for his arthritis,” you started, “not to mention the woods surrounding it that are always peaceful, and the lake… oh, fuck me, Johnny, you’ll love the lake.”

“I will?” He mused, knowing that if he kept you talking, he kept your mind away from everything else, knowing that if he gave you something to think about, you wouldn’t panic and you wouldn’t lose your temper. 

“Yeah,” you admitted with a soft chuckle. “Yeah, you’ll love the lake - sometimes we get bears down by it, they come down every now and then for a drink. I’ll have to take you down while we’re there, see if we can’t go bear watching.” 

“Bear watching,” Byers laughed quietly. 

“Yeah, bear watching,” you nodded, shooting him a daft smile as you gazed at him. “We could go down to the lake early in the morning, set up a little sorta camp, and just… watch and wait for any bears to show up.” 

“That does sound like a good day,” he admitted, nodding and humming lowly. “I don’t see why we couldn’t.”


	5. Cabin Fever

Arriving at the cabin was the easiest part of the plan, allocating rooms to everyone, however, was a little trickier, as although the cabin was fairly large, there wasn’t enough room for one person per room; Langly and Jimmy fancied staying in the empty room with all your father’s books and bookcases and bookshelves, Reyes and Yves wanted to stay in the upper lounge to stay in for the while, Frohike and Doggett took one of the spare bedrooms although they would not mind which, Scully and Fox were going to settle on taking the other spare room, your father and Skinner decided to share the main bedroom and would not hear a single argument about it from anyone, and you and Byers were left to either steal the downstairs living room or the attic depending on which was preferable. But as everyone bickered and squabbled over the upstairs bedrooms, you and Byers decided to make yourselves at home in the living room, thankful that the sofa was big enough for you both without it being squashed, as sleeping on the floor was less than desirable; he had most of his things set up on the nearby dining table that was usually used as a desk by the window while you focused on moving all of your clothes into a spare cupboard that had been left empty since the day your father had bought the place. You put Byers’ clothes into it, as well, while he sorted out everything else. By the time that everyone had stopped bickering over who would get which room, you and Byers were all finished unpacking and were just waiting on them to decide what was going to go on further; although while Frohike and Reyes and Langly and Jimmy and Yves and Scully and Doggett were exploring their temporary homes, and while your father and Skinner were catching up on the old times, you and Byers and Fox decided to head down to the lake for a little while to get some peace of mind and to talk. The cool dark cobalt water twinkled with the light from the moon and the stars against the obsidian skies, the little stone dock was cold to the touch but not wet and slippery, a small empty bucket for fishing bait sat against some of the stones as you kicked your shoes off and put your socks in them, rolling your jeans up enough so that you could swing your legs into the water as you sat at the edge of the dock, letting Fox and Byers sit either side of you. The edge of the woods seemed to blend into the water on the other side, an endless shadow that seemed wider than the world itself but was soon broken at the edges of the top of the trees; the air was warm, although not hot, and you could hear the chirping of crickets along with the slow and steady rumble of bat wings and fox calls. 

“It’s a nice night,” Fox said, crossing his legs beneath him as he leaned against the pillar and looked over at the lake. 

“Start a bonfire, grab some snacks from inside, and we could have ourselves a little campfire,” you chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Y’know, tell scary stories, get high, drink some beer, just like we used to in the olden days.” 

“The olden days,” Fox scoffed, shaking his head. He stood up, then, stretching and letting out a little yawn as he did so. “I’ll go grab some food, you two wait here.”

“I wasn’t serious, Fox,” you dared to laugh as you looked up at your friend. “You don’t have to.” 

“Maybe it’s a good idea,” Byers shrugged, looking at you with that certain fondness in his eyes that could make a grown man weep. “I mean, we’ve been through a lot today, perhaps a campfire and some unhealthy food and swapping stories would be good for us all.” 

“See?” Fox hummed, raising a brow at you. “I’ll go get the others while I’m at it, I’ll ask Doggett and Jimmy to grab some firewood and stuff to build a fire.” 

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes, watching as Fox started to walk away. But as soon as he was gone, you stood up, and smirked at Byers. “You ever been skinny dipping, Johnny?”

Going bright red like crimson bloodshed, Byers shook his head. “Uh, uh, no, I, I can’t say I have.” 

“Well, Dad keeps a couple of towels in his fishing box,” you said, pointing to the large box that sat on the other end of the dock by your shoes. “Fancy a dip?”

Byers couldn’t believe he was being asked such a thing, being caught nude by anyone else would have been utterly awful and not something that he wanted to happen, but while you dumped your clothes on the fishing box, stripping down to absolutely nothing, Byers could only bring himself to get down to his boxers, leaving his clothes in a neat little pile besides yours. A great splash and a crash came from the water as you practically threw yourself into it, dunking your head in the dark water for a moment before resurfacing and treading water, grinning. 

“Are you gonna come in, or are you just gonna stand there in your underwear?”

Gently, Byers lowered himself into the water, letting out a little gasp and a quiet wince as the cold lake kissed his skin, but once he was in, and once he was at your side, he stopped worrying about the cold so much; he stopped worrying about how goosebumps had formed on his skin and how he had shivered. Once you grabbed his shoulders, he had forgotten about mostly everything else, that wolfish look in your eyes making the colours of them glow in the moonlight. He tilted his head, lifting up a wet hand to scratch at his beard. He used the same hand to gently splay his fingers at the back of your neck, his soft touch on your skin making you grumble with appreciation. 

“I, uh…” he wasn’t really sure what to say, even though he thought about how handsome you looked, bathed in the moonlight and the champagne stars, even though he thought about how much he loved to be so close to you in that moment, even though he thought about how much he would have loved to have been in such a moment under different circumstances. But Byers could think of nothing. All those years of writing articles for The Lone Gunman newspaper, and yet, when it mattered so much in a single moment, Byers could think of nothing at all to say, as if the wolf had ripped his tongue from his mouth and thrown it aside without a care in the world. He wanted to say something, he really did, but he couldn’t think of so much as half of a syllable without getting tongue tied. Although, eventually, Byers managed to gather himself and to speak at last, “is this the spot you said you would bring me to, to see the bears, I mean?”

“No,” you shook your head as you smiled, bringing one hand from his shoulder in order to gently cup his jaw, feeling the small drops of water on his beard tickle your skin. “No, I was thinking we’d go somewhere more intimate.”

“I-intimate?” Byers asked with a clench of his jaw and the widening of his eyes, swallowing thickly as he suddenly became filled with agonising anxiety. 

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, trying not to let him know that your heart suddenly started to howl against the bony walls of its cage and how you could feel it in your throat. “Y’know, uh, we, uh… it’s less likely the bears will get spooked if there’s only two of us and if there’s no one to interrupt, is all.” 

“Oh, right, yes, of course,” he chuckled nervously, shaking his head and thinking himself to be such an idiot. He moved his hands to the small of your back, hoping that he could get away with saying that it was because he was far from confident in the water, hoping that he could get away with saying that it was because his talent was on the ice, not in a lake so deep that he did almost worry about something dragging him under; a lake so deep that he almost wondered if there would be a masked killer with an axe in one hand and a machete in the other, steadfast in the shadow of his killer mother and seeking revenge on anyone who dared to go into the lake. But then he felt you shiver, your skin becoming littered with goosebumps, although he could tell it wasn’t because you were cold, he could tell it was something else by the way that you smiled and your breath hitched when you looked into his eyes, he could tell it was something else by the way that you leaned into him and you seemed to want more of his touch, which only made him swallow thickly as he thought about all the times he had almost broken and had almost told you about everything even though he knew that he should never tell you, he should never confess, especially not now, especially now while you were being hunted like a dog. Breaking was a luxury that he couldn’t afford, and it was a privilege that he did not have. But good lord, Byers couldn’t help but to think how handsome you were; the moonlight in your eyes, the stars glittering above you, the dark water around you and hugging your body in the most marvellous of ways as the moonlight dared to spread onto the cold ripples and droplets, he loved how good you looked in that moment, wanting nothing more than to never regret it and to always cherish such a sight; however, Byers knew that time was not so easily kept within a cage, and although he wished to keep that moment in the smallest cage possible so that he could take it with him everywhere that he went, he knew that such a thing was impossible, and that the moment would end. 

“Hey!” Fox called, carrying over an eight-pack of something canned, Langly following behind with a box of wine, Frohike was beside Langly with a crate of something else canned, Scully was behind them both with some blankets, whereas Doggett and Jimmy followed with rocks and logs and Reyes had some lighter fluid and a box of matches. “Guys?”

Realising that the moment had ended, that Fox had killed it, Byers muttered a thousand and one apologies as he helped you to rush to get dry and dressed and meet everyone nearby where they were setting up a campfire; but you didn’t mind, catching and holding his gaze as he held the towel in his hands, about to help you to dry your back when you looked him up and down, smiling a little more as you dared to hum in appreciation. 

“Are you alright?” Byers asked after a while, tugging the towel around you a little closer so that it acted more like a cape, his hands still gripping the corners as the sides of his hands rested against your wet skin. 

There was that smell again, that sweet smell that he kept giving off, making you furrow your brows as you let out the softest of growls, the most quiet of barks that hardly escaped your mouth. Why did he keep giving off the sweet scent? “Y- yeah, no, I’m good… just…” you dared to lean into him, sniffing at the crook between his neck and his shoulder, you snorted as you pulled back and stared at him for a second. “Startled, was all. I thought… thought we’d get a little bit more time, y’know?”

“I can’t say that I blame you,” he nodded, still unsure what to make of the situation, unsure of whether or not to comment about how different you seemed, as if something had caught your curiosity but you wouldn’t say what exactly, and although he wasn’t worried and although he didn’t really find much of a reason to be fearful, he was still rather anxious about it. But even still, he did his best to brush it off and to act as if all was fine and all was well. At the sound of laughter and a few soft thuds, things being placed down on the soft grass, Byers smiled at you. “Maybe we should go join them…”

“Maybe we should,” you agreed with a sigh and a nod, picking up the other towel and dumping it on his head before chuckling and daring to try and to dry his hair. It didn’t work, not really, and the strands were still damp when you pulled away and dared to shake yourself off, your hair getting messy and unkempt and disheveled when you did so; but you were quick to redress yourself, and you were quick to smirk at Byers when he had mostly gotten dressed again, save for his tie, which he struggled to do up with shaking hands. “Just leave it off for now, Johnny, I’m sure nobody will write you up for breaking the dress code.”

Sighing and shrugging, Byers wanted to protest against such a thing, but he decided not to, he especially decided to remain quiet when you smoothed out his shirt collar and when you dared to pop open the first few buttons of his shirt, flashing him that smile that made him go so weak and cause him to feel like he was about to break. “That’s easy for you to say, Rin Tin Tin, and you know it.”

“C’mon,” you smiled as you rolled your eyes at him, taking his tie from his hands and holding it between your teeth, raising a brow as you dared to tilt your head to the side. You could smell the fire begin to spark nearby, just as you could hear the muffled questions asking where you were. “Live a little.”

“Can I have my tie back?” He asked quietly, flashing you the puppy dog eyes that he had hoped would cause you to give it back, but instead, you took a step backwards, and chuckled. 

“If you want it,” your voice was slightly muffled from the fabric in your mouth, but it was still mostly clear and was easy to understand. “Come and get it, big boy.”

With that, you took off running, sprinting really, harsh puffs and huffs of panted breaths leaving your mouth through the tie, which was covered in slobber, taking off and only daring to stop when you reached the campfire; you bent over, your hands on your knees and your eyes glowing slightly as Byers, out of breath and glaring at you, came into view and nearly skidded as he dared to stop running. But you weren’t done yet, and when he asked you again to give the tie back, you ran off again, and again, and again, until you were definitely out of breath and ready to give it back; as much as he wanted to be angry and to be irritated, Byers couldn’t help but to laugh softly as he gently took the tie from you, groaning a little when he felt how damp it was. But he didn’t particularly want to bring it up in front of everyone, instead, he slipped it into his pocket, and thanked you quietly before sitting down beside you on one of the logs that you assumed Doggett had brought over. Fox immediately handed you a beer. 

“It smells like wet dog,” Frohike commented, looking between you and Byers and noticing that his hair was still slightly damp, as if he had been in the water and had not quite dried off just yet. He nudged Langly softly to point it out. 

“So, uh, did you guys encounter any machete wielding maniacs?” Langly asked, raising their brow at you and Byers as they watched how you leaned against him, practically draping yourself over his body as you lazily took a swig of beer and sighed heavily, trying to catch your breath. They noticed, though, that your hair was damp, too, and along with the incredibly strong scent of wet dog, it didn’t take them long to realise what had happened and what was going on. 

But Fox spoke up, then, clearing his throat as he dared to shift in his seat upon the log he was perched on. “We almost went looking for you two.”

“You didn’t need to,” you shook your head as you scoffed and waved him off. “We were, uh…”

“(Y/N) was just showing me around,” Byers lied, looking at you from the corner of his eye, protecting the moment you had shared, he didn’t need to feel you press into him slightly more to know that you appreciated his cover-up. “I, uh, I asked if I could see one of the hibernation dens the bears around here use, that was all.”

Nobody really found any reason to debate his reasoning, after all, it wasn’t like Byers to lie, and nor did they find any reason to so much as suspect it; Jimmy and Langly and Frohike, especially, knew that bears were Byers’ favourite animal, but only Jimmy didn’t suspect anything… Frohike and Langly and Fox, however, knew better than anyone else, seemingly. Although they could not guess what had happened, and nor could they fully explain why your hair and why Byers’ hair was wet, they definitely knew that you had not shown him around to see some hibernation dens - especially not in the middle of the night, anyways. But, for whatever reason, whether it was tiredness or just wanting to let you and Byers have something without having to explain it all to everyone, airing it out like dirty laundry, the trio of disbelievers decided to stay quiet, and to allow the subject to move along. 

“So,” Scully spoke up at last, looking at you with a kind smile as she took a swig from the plastic wine glass in her hand, the flames of the campfire bouncing and reflecting off of the harsh red colour of the glass and illuminating her face. “(Y/N), it was really nice of your father to let us stay here for a while.”

You shared a look with Byers, wriggling over a little so that you were practically sat on his lap, before you looked over at Fox, and frowned for a second until you turned back to Scully and flashed her your best fake smile. “Yeah, I mean, my dad’s a great guy, if I’m honest… and, y’know, don’t worry about overstaying your welcome, either, he’d put up with you for his life without so much as a complaint.”

“To be fair, your dad still hasn’t forgiven me for the summer incident,” Fox muttered with a soft chuckle. 

“The summer incident?” Scully questioned with a furrowed brow. 

“Oh, basically, me and Fox got really stoned,” you started, laughing a little, “like really, really stoned, and, uh… we raided the cupboard and drank all of the orange juice, and then we went wandering around the woods playing hide and seek, but we got lost.”

“And at four o’clock in the morning, your dad came to save us,” Fox finished with a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “But he wasn’t mad.”

“Just disappointed,” you tittered, shaking your head fondly at the memory. “He almost called Skinner.”

“How about a game?” Jimmy suddenly said, catching everyone’s attention as a smile ran onto his face, a beaming smile as he looked around at the expectant gazes. “We could, uh, we could play truth or dare!”

“Jimmy, this isn’t high school,” Yves sighed, shaking her head. 

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “I’m down, to be fair.”

“And me,” Langly agreed. 

“Ditto,” Frohike nodded. 

“I don’t see why not,” Doggett hummed, swigging back his beer. 

“So long as someone turns the speaker on,” Reyes added. 

“It could be fun,” Scully admitted, finishing off her glass before pouring out another one. 

“I’ll join,” Fox agreed the very second that Scully did, almost as if he had been waiting for her to answer. 

“What about you?” You asked, looking at Byers and tilting your head. “You down for a little game, Johnny?”

Byers took a moment to think of it, as Reyes powered on the speaker, the sound of ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’ by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell started to drift through the air, making him swallow thickly as he returned your gaze; although playing such childish games were usually not something he particularly enjoyed and tended to indulge in, he couldn’t help but to shrug and to sigh, nodding. If you had not said that you wanted to play, he probably would have made up an excuse to leave for the duration of the game. “Sure, I’ll play.”

You pulled away to take a gulp from your bottle of beer, holding Byers’ gaze as you smirked and raised your brows at him. 

“Yves?” Jimmy hummed, looking at her like a hopeful puppy. “Do you wanna do the honours of asking?”

“Of course,” she answered, clearing her throat and stealing some of the wine from the box that Scully was drinking out of. “We’ll go this way,” she said, gesturing to Byers being first and you being last, going around the campfire. “Byers, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he told her with a slightly shaking voice, wondering if he was going to regret agreeing to play the game, but even still, when you grinned and finished off your beer, accepting a fresh one from Fox, who had put them in a portable cooler with the soft drinks, especially the Monster energy that he had decided to steal from your father’s fridge. 

“Is it true that you wanted a pet bear as a child?” She asked, figuring that she would keep it tame and play nice, as she knew that there was fear behind his eyes and behind his voice that she would never dare to toy with, as although she did her best to hide it and to keep it a secret, Yves genuinely did care about the Gunmen, and she didn’t want to upset any of them that night or any night, for that matter. 

“It’s true,” Byers smiled a little as he nodded, explaining that, when he was younger, he had watched a television show known as ‘Gentle Ben’, which had centred around a black bear, and that, when he was younger, he wanted nothing more than to hug the bear and to keep it as his pet. The memory made him smile a little as he took a swig of canned iced coffee that he had accepted from Doggett when it was offered to him. 

“That’s because you’re a fucking softie,” you murmured in his ear as Yves asked Doggett the next question, but as he rolled his eyes, Byers couldn’t help but to lay his free arm around your shoulders, keeping you close to his body as you hummed. ‘I Say a Little Prayer’ by Aretha Franklin playing on the speaker. “Is it bad I don’t want anyone to find out where we were and what we were doing earlier?”

“I don’t think so,” he whispered back, shaking his head a little as he sighed softly. “No one… no one else needs to know, do they? I, I mean it’s not like…” he swallowed thickly, thinking about how you had looked in that water and how handsome you were bathed in the moonlight. “It’s not like anything happened.”

“No, I know,” you nodded, taking another swig from your beer and sighing. “I just… y’know, I wanna keep it between us, because fuck, it’s like our little thing, y’know?”

“I understand,” Byers agreed softly, but when he noticed how you started to bounce your leg up and down and how you chewed at your lip so much that it bled, he frowned. “Do you want to go for a cigarette?”

You agreed, and with a polite but only half believable excuse and apology to the others in the group, you wandered off with Byers to go smoke, wandering off to the edge of the woods, you lit up a cigarette and sighed heavily, your beer in one hand as you closed your eyes and tilted your head back so that the moonlight was on your face. “As much as I would’ve enjoyed playing truth or dare, I really fucking needed a smoke.”

“I know,” Byers hummed, shoving his hands into his pockets and doing his best not to think about how good you looked and how handsome you were to him and how, even in your worst moments, and even in your best, you were always the most handsome man in the world in his eyes, and that was not something that he would try and hide if he was ever asked about it. “When me and the guys pulled up to your flat that day… did you mean what you said?”

“Which bit?” You asked, raising a brow and taking a long drag from your cigarette, letting the ash become buried in the blades of grass and scraps of dirt. 

“You said that you could smell us from a mile away,” he answered, although he did really want to ask if you had meant it when you had called him ‘dear’, which he knew was just teasing, he really did know that you were only being playful, but all the same it was one of the few things that he couldn’t shake from his mind and move on from, it wasn’t something he was able to forget about so easily even when he wanted to, as he knew that you never… you never wanted him like that. “Was that true?”

“Yeah,” you admitted with a soft laugh and a puff of grey smoke from your lips. “You all have quite distinctive smells, if I’m honest, and that… that helps.”

“W- we do?” Byers questioned, a little curious, a little intrigued by the casual comment. 

“Sure,” you nodded, lifting your head up slightly so that you could sniff at the air before grinning at him. “You always smell of coffee and fresh ink, if I’m honest. You cover it up with aftershave and cologne, especially the stuff that the guys buy you for your birthday every year, which isn’t a bad smell but, but it… it’s always there. It’s always coffee and fresh ink.”

Byers had never thought that you would so easily and so casually just reduce him to that, and although he wanted to be unbothered and apathetic about it, he couldn’t help but to be impressed; sure, the fact that you were a werewolf and that lycanthrope blood burned in your veins and heightened your senses to a point where city life was virtually impossible without those senses becoming so easily overwhelmed and so easily overstimulated, but he was still very much impressed. And, if he was honest, a little flustered that you could pinpoint his smell so easily and that you could recognise him from so far away. He found it so endearing, and he couldn’t deny that he would have loved to have learned more about your senses. 

But once you had finished smoking and had returned to the group, you were surprised to find Langly and Fox were the only ones left, sharing a joint that Langly had clearly rolled from some of your father’s marijuana, which made you scoff as you took back your seat and held your hand up; Langly passed the joint to you, giggling a little as they watched you take more than your fair share before handing it over to Fox. 

“Where did everyone go?” Byers asked, although judging by the redness of Langly’s eyes, he did not exactly expect a coherent response or a decent answer. 

“Something about getting an early night,” they admitted, talking much slower than usual, their eyes only half open and a lazy smile on their face. ‘There She Goes’ by The La’s playing over the speaker. They nodded their head to the beat and tapped their foot along to it, as well. 

“Do you guys think that dogs can sense people’s souls?” Fox asked, lying down on his little log and stretching out as he looked around at you and Langly and Byers. 

But the weed was starting to hit as you let out a soft giggle and nudged Byers. “Is that why I like you so much? ‘Cause I can tell you have a good soul?”

“Dude, maybe it is,” Langly said with a dead serious expression, nodding as they licked their lips and tried not to think about how dry their mouth was. “Or maybe you’re just super in love with him.”

“What if it’s both?” Fox chuckled, reaching out to tap Langly on the shoulder as he grinned. 

‘You Shook Me All Night Long’ by AC/DC started to play, which made you grin as you dared to look at Byers, who wasn’t really sure what to do except look back. 

“he was a fast machine he kept his motor clean, he was the best damn man that I ever seen, he had the sightless eyes telling me no lies, knocking me out with those American thighs,” you laid your hand on his thigh, winking as you failed to keep the laugh from the back of your throat and the grin from your face. “Taking more than his share, Had me fighting for air, he told me to come but I was already there,” that part made Byers swallow thickly as he kept his gaze on you, his featured turning practically bright red while you continued to sing loudly and off-key and through bursts of laughter, “‘cause the walls start shaking, the earth was quaking, my mind was aching, and we were making it, ad you shook me all night long - yeah you shook me all night long!”

With a giggle, Langly nudged Fox so harshly that he fell over his log, making them laugh as they gestured for him to come closer. “Do you think (y/n)’s hinting at something?”

“Probably,” Fox chuckled, licking his lips and trying not to think about how badly he was craving orange juice. “I wonder what would happen if we put on Rock You Like a Hurricane.”

“Man, I don’t wanna see ‘em naked,” Langly laughed, shaking their head. “Maybe we should go and let ‘em do what they’re gonna do.”

“Oh, no,” Fox shook his head, doing his best not to giggle as he cleared his throat. “We gotta… we gotta make sure that…” 

“That what?” Langly prodded. 

“That what what?” Fox stared at them blankly for a moment before the two started to laugh and to giggle. 

All the while, Byers was still blushing and biting his lip, knowing that you were only singing such a thing and that you were only being so bold because you were high, he knew that you didn’t actually feel that way for him and even if you did, he knew that there would be a better time for him to break; he wanted you to relax and to have fun, he wanted you to take your mind away from being hunted down like a dog, so he did his best to pay no mind to what you were saying and the way that your touches were sending shocks throughout his body, how your smiles and the way you winked at him made him have to clench his jaw to keep himself from breaking, how just the slightest look in his eyes made his breath hitch and his heart race in its bony cage, running from one end to the other as it paced and thundered against the bars. But what Byers didn’t know was that you were only being so bold and that you were only singing such things at him was because you were high, and because you did genuinely feel that way for him, but you also knew that you could never tell him, as you knew that you were a dangerous dog trapped in a cage, and to be released would be to sentence him to a lifetime of wondering whether or not you were going to hurt him as well as the inner torture of knowing that, if you did ever dare to admit how you felt for him, you would have to admit that you were going to hurt him, that you were could to shift and to lose control and that would hurt him or worse. And that was not something you kindly looked at. That was not something you wanted to think about, and if telling him in some shape or some form meant getting high and singing classic rock songs, then that was what you would do until he got the message in the bottle. 

After making everyone a fry-up in the morning, your father and Skinner and Doggett headed out to do some fishing at one end of the lake on the little stone dock while Scully and Fox decided to sit in the living room with Reyes and Frohike and Langly and Yves and Jimmy, they had said something about watching a lot of horror films throughout the day, including ‘Cannibal Holocaust’ and ‘Hostel’, so they didn’t pay much mind when you and Byers stole a blanket and a little basker and stuffed it with food and drinks before heading out; it was a cloudless sunny day, and it was warm although it wasn’t hot and it wasn’t cold, it was the perfect day to wear just a sleeveless shirt, a hoodie, and a pair of jogging bottoms; but you took Byers all the way to the opposite end of the lake, every now and then raising your head to sniff at the air to try and find out where the bears were, but once you had found the perfect spot, Byers laid down the blanket on the ground, and he allowed you to sit down first before he dared to relax himself. You laid on your side, stretching your legs out almost close enough to touch the edge of the water, leaning on your arm as you let out a yawn and smiled at him with a raised brow. 

Shrugging his blazer off, Byers laid it down on the ground behind him, able to feel himself start to sweat a little as he sat opposite you, playing with a loose thread that had come off of the blanket. “Did I hear Reyes say that they were going to watch Cannibal Holocaust?”

“Yeah, she did,” you nodded, letting out a yawn and licking your lips. “Why, you’re not scared of it, are you, Johnny?”

“Oh good lord, no,” he chuckled, running his knuckles along the underside of his chin, almost scratching at his beard. “At, uh, at the FCC, we were all made to watch it.”

“Well, fuck, if working for the FCC means watching shit like that, where the fuck do I sign up?” You joked, flashing him that smile that made him grow weak and made his throat feel raw and dry, forcing him to swallow thickly as he did his best not to break and not to tell you how he felt. You scoffed, shaking your head. “You didn’t really have to watch it, did you?”

“Oh, yes, we did,” Byers assured with a nod. “It was disgusting, but… the practical effects that Ruggero Deodato used were absolutely amazing, and the film itself changed the horror genre and his impact is still felt today.”

Fuck, you would have listened to him talk about that all day, you could have listened to him rant and rave and howl and holler about the practical effects and about the film’s impact for years and years if he would have let you to do and if he would have dared to talk about it for such a long time, as although you could understand why he was disgusted with the film, even you couldn’t miss the sparkle in his eyes that lit up like a firework when he got to talking about the practical effects and the various techniques; all you could do was to smile as you looked at him, not really taking in what he was saying but absolutely loving the way that he spoke and the sound of his voice so impassioned and filled with a slight giddiness around it; not to mention, you loved the way that his mouth moved and how expressive his eyes were, making you sigh dreamily as you started to zone out, paying less and less attention to what he was saying and more and more attention to the way his mouth moved and how his voice sounded and made you yearn to just lean over and to kiss him. But you reached into the basket of food and drinks at the same time that he did, and you couldn’t help but to grin and to bite your lip when he turned bright red at how your fingertips ghosted along his and how you held his gaze for a moment too long. A lingering look at his lips made Byers clear his throat and snap his hand back as he did his best to hide how close he was to breaking and how much he would have loved to break but knew that he had to wait, that he had to keep himself from breaking until it was safe, as although he did worry that you would never love him, although he did worry that you would never feel the same in a thousand years, he couldn’t help but to want to tell you, if only to finally let himself break and to wreck his own heart when you rejected him and when you told him that you could never love him like that. 

“Wait,” you paused, tilting your head back and taking a whiff of the air, something that smelled like wet grass and fish, a sweet scent that made you glare at the edge of the woods with something curious but cautious. “Looks like you might just get your wish, handsome.”

“W- what do you mean?” Byers asked, looking at you with worry and agonising concern as he furrowed his brows and frowned. 

“Bear,” you muttered, taking another sniff of the air. “About a mile away, maybe closer.”

“Is… is it going to attack us?” He questioned with a slightly shaking voice, but when you scoffed and shook your head, he knew that he had asked a stupid question. 

“No, bears won’t come near werewolves,” you explained, “every now and then, you’ll get a curious bear that comes around sniffing, but they just mind their own business and walk away after a while. We should be fine.”

Turning back to Byers, you shot him that grin, and moved closer to him, pressing your body against his and shaking your head against his neck so that your scent would stick to him, which he didn’t mind at all, especially not when you pressed your back against his chest and allowed him to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you close, and although he wanted to, he could not help but to enjoy having you so close and he could not help but to think about how you leaned into him so readily, he told himself that you were just trying to keep him safe and that you were just trying to take every precaution that was needed, but even still, he could not help but to wonder if it had been an excuse to be close, especially when, after a few moments too long, you both still refused to move. Occasionally, Byers would lean over to grab something from the basket, a little bit of fruit that you would steal from him and chuckle as you ate it, making him sigh and roll his eyes as he did his best not to smile; but when he went to grab something to drink, he somehow lost his balance, and caused you to end up beneath him, your back pressed against the blanket as you gripped his shoulders and tilted your head. 

“John, is there something in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” You teased, looking him up and down for a moment, trying not to laugh at how bright red his face was as he stumbled over a thousand apologies and a million ways to express how sorry he was, but you soon shut him up when you leaned up to press your temple against his, letting one hand go to the back of his neck as you kept the other hand between his shoulder blades. Byers couldn’t pull away, he didn’t want to as he steadied himself by putting his hands on either side of you, able to feel the ground beneath his palms as he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment or two.

“Oh, uh, I, uh-”

“Relax,” you growled softly, shaking your head as you slowly licked your lips, a teasing laugh to your voice as you dared to rumble, “you know I’m only joking…”

“I can move,” he whispered, falling into a slightly more comfortable position, his knees on either side of your hips, leaning on his forearms as you folded your arms behind your head and sighed heavily, that sparkle in your eyes that wouldn’t just go away in the slightest. “If… if you, you want me to, I mean-”

“I’m comfortable,” you whispered, nodding slowly and daring to grin. “Are you?”

Byers could only nod, a little concerned about having to explain such a position if anyone happened to walk over, but he couldn’t deny that it was quite comfortable, especially when he allowed himself to relax, stretching his legs out so that they tangled with yours as his breath got caught in his throat; fuck, he would have stayed in that position for years, good lord, he would have happily spent the rest of his life being able to look at your eyes beneath him and to feel your body so close to his own. Good grief, it was almost like you were trying to make him break. Eventually, though, he managed to gather himself, and he whispered, “no, no, I’m… I’m comfortable.”

So, you both stayed like that, you stayed laid beneath him, letting him hand you things to eat every now and then, although you could have sworn that, behind the bashful and flustered gazes, he was thinking something that he would never dare to admit to thinking unless if he was married to you, which made you have to bite back a laugh as you thought about how prim and proper he was, how much of a true gentleman he always was even when he didn’t need to be and even when you were far from being prim and proper and far from being a true gentleman. It took him a while, but he did relax, nuzzling into your neck as he dared to allow one arm to go above your head, closing his eyes as you happily held onto him, but after a while you still raised one hand in order to lace it in the soft strands of his hair, gently massaging the back of his head and making him grumble softly as he pressed himself that little bit more into you; you would have laid there for hours, basking in the sun with Byers cuddled into you, his beard tickling your neck in the best way possible, the soft sounds of the lake water rippling and the birds singing and the trees whispering to the bushes lulling you into an easy sleep as you dared to close your eyes and to tilt your head slightly so that you could feel his hair on your cheek, his gentle breathing kissing your skin as you realised that he, too, was falling asleep. Perhaps a few hours were easily forgiven, you thought, perhaps a sneaky little nap in the sunlight was not such a bad thing and was not so awful that it could never be given, perhaps some sleep was even needed for you both, after all, it had not been a restful few days.

Things were going well at your father’s cabin, if everyone was honest, as although it did give everyone a little bit of space and some distance and some time to think things through and to try and come up with a solution or two to the problems at hand, it also gave everyone some time to relax and to just not worry about much - the little things, like being on time for work and getting a cup of coffee from the exact place in town, were little worries and woes that no one had to endure or to even think about while they were staying at your father’s cabin. For the most part, everyone was happy, or at least, they seemed that way, as for the most part, they no longer had to handle the stress of everything else; Scully no longer had to worry about ensuring she had her badge in the morning, Fox no longer had to worry about grabbing something to eat in the morning just to make sure that he had something in his stomach, Skinner no longer had to worry about someone complaining about Fox and Scully the very second he got into his office, Doggett no longer had to worry about trying to get the beast hot dogs that he could for dinner, Reyes no longer had to worry about ensuring that she could go and see the latest gory horror film in the cinema without work interrupting her, Langly no longer had to worry about Jimmy wrecking their keyboard by cleaning it, Frohike no longer had to worry about pulling coffee filters from the printer at least three times a day, Yves no longer had to worry about making sure that the Gunmen didn’t kill themselves in order to get their latest scoop, Byers no longer had to worry about which tie to wear to suit the occasion for the day - even if he did still spend almost an hour every morning picking one out -, you no longer had to worry about Fox barging into your flat at four o’clock in the morning to ask you for help on a case, and Jimmy… well, Jimmy didn’t worry about a lot of things in the first place as it was. But they could all relax, at last, they could all kick back and they could all forget about the petty little worries that plagued their city lives from day to day, and while the cloud of wondering what to do about Krycek and the cigarette smoking man hung heavy on your shoulders, a little get away was more than worth it and was more than appreciated. In all honesty, things were going a lot better than expected and a lot smoother than expected and a lot calmer than expected; lazy days out on the lakeshore with Byers, falling asleep in the midday sun, horror film marathons that started in the day but didn’t end until the middle of the night and you were half-asleep on Byers’ shoulder by the end of it, cuddling into Byers in the dead of night and waking up so firmly wrapped around him that it was as if you were part anaconda, eating breakfast with the people you called your closest friends as well as family and being able to laugh at old stories and to grumble fondly and roll your eyes at old embarrassments.

Yes, despite the overhanging cloud of worry and anxiety and paranoia that was constantly hanging above your head and threatening to break open and release a storm at any moment, you managed to find pieces here and there to make you forget about it for a few short moments; you knew that Byers knew that you were only trying to find mere moments of peace and mere moments of happiness to endure for a few moments, and you knew that he was desperate to talk to you about it and to ask you if you ever needed or wanting anything from him, but really, just having him there and just knowing that he was beside you each morning was more than enough, as although you did fear not being able to protect him from the cigarette smoking man, as although you did fear failing and accidentally hurting him or causing his death, knowing that he was beside you to hold you and to guide you was more than enough and was more than you could have ever asked for in your life. But even wolves could not sense a storm before it was well on its way. 

It was late when you decided to take a little trip around the property, leaving Byers on the sofa as he slept soundly, and although you regretted it, you could smell something in the air that you just had to investigate; but the closer that you drew to the scent, the tenser your muscles became.

You left your clothes on the dock, right in the box where they would be kept dry and where they would be safe if the wind picked up even more and if it started to rain or to hail, and you took off running into the woods. Your heart began to beat shallowly and quickly, making you clutch your chest for a moment until your eyes widened, and with a growl of agony, you dropped to your knees, gripping at the dirt and grabbing a handful of it as the dirt sank into the spots of flesh beneath your fingernails; you could feel your blood dripping down and out of your mouth as your teeth elongated and sharpened and became carnivorous, your gums bleeding and turning the fangs bright red with crimson bloodshed.

The bones in your skull began to crack and to grow bigger and turn into something more wolfish. While they didn't move, your ears creaked and groaned as they became longer and more pointed. Your jaw ached as it became longer in order to fit in all of those rows of horrid fangs, your voice destroying itself as it broke and rendered speech useless and incapable, instead only able to let out a series of grunts and growls and whimpers and whines and grumbles and groans. Your nose changed, too, your nose folded in on itself and pushed back and up as it became more circular, causing you to reach a hand up to try and hold it and to stop the pain. You arched your back, whining loudly.

Your fingers became shorter, sinking in on themselves as they became paws with long and sharp claws at the end. You could feel your spine coil, forcing you down on all fours and unable to stand on two legs like some beast. Then the fur came. The fur, millions of tiny little pins forcing themselves up and through and out of your skin, drops of blood resting delicately and balancing on the very tips of the coarse but thin hairs. The fur coated your body, a pale yellow-y white on your legs and on your stomach, a charcoal grey and obsidian coloured coat on your head and your back and your neck, a reddish brown on your ears and muzzle, small fine yellow-y white on the inside of your ears. Your shoulder blades popped out of the thin coat, so easily seen through the thin hairs, they looked as if they had been dislocated or kicked out to stick at an unnatural angle. When your spine had coiled, your tailbone had torn through your lower back, leaving a small circle of blood around where it had slowly pushed through your own flesh, matting the fur. You stopped running at the top of the hill, laying your front paws on a rock and tilting your head back as you let out a long and eerie howl. Singing to the moon for moments after moments until you caught that scent again.

The scent, it was so close, and you could practically taste it on your tongue like an awful bit of phlegm that would not go down; the scent was so close, and you couldn’t help but to run after it, deep pawprints left in the dirt along with scratching claw marks that remained embedded in the mud, but you kept running, you kept running and chasing the rabbit until you barrelled into the owner of the scent, knocking them to the ground, your front paws on their shoulders and you dared to snarl, snapping bloody jaws in their face as you breathed so heavily that the rising and falling of your chest was visible and your breathing itself was audible. Krycek. The person beneath you was none other than Alex Krycek.

He didn’t seem to know about the cabin, clearly caught off guard as he squirmed and wriggled and raised his hands to try and protect his face, letting out a soft whimper as he scrambled to try and react properly; he had clearly been caught with his guard down, and did not know why you had pinned him to the ground, why you had snapped and snarled in his face; but then you lifted your head, tilting it back so that those jarring jaws were raised up towards the moon, and you let out a howl. Krycek didn’t say anything, bending his knees so that he could try and kick you off, but you held on, pushing his shoulders harder against the concrete, not caring about how he threw his own head back and cried at the pain, knowing that you had probably crushed the bone all over again; but he kept trying, he kept trying to free himself and to kick you away, at one point grabbing your lower jaw and, despite the teeth sinking into the palm of his hands, yanked your jaw to the side, causing you to snap your mouth shut and to clamp down on his hand firmly, the blood soaking your tongue and your teeth, dripping from the curled lips as you shook your head vigorously, taking a few steps back as you yanked him up to his feet, still holding his hand in your mouth as you growled and tore it more and more, able to taste the crunching bone beneath flesh - until Krycek lifted one leg up, and harshly kicked you in the face, causing you to bark in a high-pitched tone as you finally let go, backing up a little with your hackles raised. 

And then Krycek reached into his pocket. 

“I started carrying this around after our first fight,” he told you, pulling out a knife with a solid silver blade that glittered in the moonlight and flickered in your eye, making you whimper as you lowered your head and snorted, your ears laid back flat. “I didn’t think I’d run into you all the way out here, you filthy mongrel.”

You barked at him all of once, moving one shoulder up and then lowering it so that you could move the other up, crouching down low as your hackles raised up, preparing to pounce at any given moment - but Krycek easily beat you to it, slashing your shoulder. It made you howl, which made him laugh, and you licked the stinging wound for a moment, your tail tucked between your legs; but when Krycek dared to laugh a little louder, you let out a viscous growl. 

“Oh, I can’t wait to put you down,” he taunted, pacing around you as you did the same, circling one another and waiting to make the next move. “I’m gonna make sure that it’s gonna hurt… and your little friends? The Lone Gunmen? Oh, they’re gonna-”

You lunged, but he kicked you again, forcing you away with a bitter laugh, as if every single move you were going to make would be one that he had already predicted; but then you did something that he did not expect, lunging at him and going for the neck, trying to clamp your jaws down on his throat as he did his best to fend you off, your claws digging into his hip as you clung onto him with your back legs, both of your front paws on his shoulder as you snapped and snarled and did your best to go for the throat, but then Krycek grazed his knife along your front leg, causing you to howl and to whimper as you jumped away from him, slashing his chest and his back and his hips with your long claws, tearing through his thick clothes easily and dragging through his flesh easily. He chuckled, kicking you to the floor as you kicked your legs and helplessly whimpered, your tail between your legs as he dared down at you, shaking his head. He put his knife back as he sighed, daring to clutch his arm and to wince a little. 

“As soon as I find out where you’re hiding,” he spat, “I am going to come after you, and all of your little friends, and you’re all going to pay…” he paused, almost as if he was considering killing you right then and there, but then he laughed, a sadistic kind of laugh that made shivers run down your spine and whimpers fall from your mouth. But Krycek simply laughed more. “I’ll let you live this once, if only because I wanna wait until you and all your little friends are together, so I can watch them all beg for your life and I can rub their noses in it before I make them suffer.”

Something happened, you weren’t quite sure what, you blacked out after Krycek’s little speech, but when you came to, you were sweating, a thin sheen of sweat coating your forehead, your throat was raw and dry and hoarse, and your vision was slightly blurred; but as you tried to sit up, you were gently pushed back down, and a familiar scent made you snuffle and sniffle. 

“Woah there, Rin Tin Tin,” Byers said gently, his voice a little shaken. “It’s me. It’s John Byers.”

You grumbled, unsure of why your leg hurt and why your shoulder hurt, but you knew that it wasn’t a break, you knew that, at most, it was just a scab and some bruising; even still, you couldn’t help but to lie back down and to sigh heavily, growling as you did so. You closed your eyes again, easily slipping back into a dreamless sleep.

“How’s Ace the Wonder Dog doing?” Came the gentle voice of Frohike from the doorframe, as if he was keeping his distance. 

“He’s okay,” Byers said quietly, refusing to leave your side but daring to look up at his friend with a sad smile. “I just… just wish he would’ve let Scully look over him, you know?”

“I know, buddy,” Frohike sighed, a fine squeak of leather coming from his jacket as he folded his arms across his chest. “You saw how he was, though… he nearly bit Skinner, twice… he wouldn’t let anyone but you go near him.”

“I wish I knew why,” Byers admitted, looking down at you with a frown. “Mister (y/l/n) probably hates me, now, too, I… I promised I’d keep his son safe and I-”

“No,” Frohike shook his head, sighing as he dared to try and take a peak over the sofa at you. “How were any of us supposed to know, Byers?”

“I said I would protect him,” Byers insisted, shaking his head. “Maybe not those exact words, but… but I said I would protect him, I promised it… and I failed. I wasn’t there, I should have been there for him, Frohike, I should… should never have let him go out there… I should have woken up when… when he was gone, I-”

“Byers, the more you beat yourself up about this, the less you’re gonna help our favourite Scooby Doo,” Frohike defended. “I know you’re upset, man, but… come on. You said it yourself, the worst of it is that cut on his shoulder, and that’s only because of where it is.”

“I know,” Byers nodded, running a hand down his face. “But I l-” catching himself, Byers shook his head, not allowing himself to break, not allowing himself to say it. “Forget it, I just want to make sure that he heals properly.”


	6. Dancing With Wolves

“Krycek, how many times do I have to tell you one simple thing?” The man at the side of Krycek’s bed sighed, frowning as he took a drag from his cigarette. Letting the ash fall to Krycek’s foot as he shook his head. “Do you not understand what I meant when I told you not to get into this? When I told you not to go after (y/n)?”

“You haven’t explained…” a weak Krycek struggled to sit up, spluttering blood onto the pale blue and itchy blanket on his body as he let out a harsh and dry cough. “You haven’t explained… what he is.”

“Have you ever heard of werewolves, Krycek?” The cigarette smoking man asked with a low rumble, as if he was holding back a cough from those terrible cigarettes. Krycek nodded. “They exist. And (y/n) is one of them - his father, too, his entire family, actually. His family have helped with the FBI’s X-Files department since the beginning.”

“Why…” another grizzly cough, more blood pooling onto the scratchy blanket, making the wool bobble and turn crusty as it dried with an orange tint. “Why are you- why are you stopping me from… from going after him?”

“Because we need him alive.” The cigarette smoking man put his cigarette out in the cup of water on the bedside table and chuckled. “But, thanks to his connection with Fox Mulder, he is helping him get to the truth, and we can’t let that happen - but, if we were to eliminate him and make him disappear, Agent Mulder would try to get to the bottom of it, and would find our plans.”

“Where am I?” Was the next question that came from the younger man’s mouth, his lips now coated in sickly blood that dripped down to his chin when he spoke, his shoulders and his hand hurt too much for him to move to wipe it, he couldn’t dare to lick his lips for fear that he would never get the taste of blood from his tongue, and he was far too weak to try and find some way of getting rid of it. 

“The hospital,” the cigarette smoking man answered, lighting up the final Morley cigarette from his packet as he shook his head. “Your hand was badly injured, (y/n) practically used it as a toy rope to play tug-of-war with.”

“Shit...” Krycek whined, shaking his head and swallowing thickly as he glanced over at his soiled cup of water, the cigarette floating aimlessly in it and turning the water yellow, the filter coming out of the paper and the tobacco tearing free and sinking to the bottom. “I didn’t…” a grizzly cough, “I didn’t go after him this time… he attacked me.”

“He did?” The cigarette smoking man seemed a little curious, although from his icy voice and his cold glare and his emotionless face, it was hard to tell. As although Krycek could shake his hand, and he could feel flesh gripping his, and the cigarette smoking man could hide any emotion behind his cold gaze, there was never anything deeper beneath that. There was nothing beneath the thick ice, as if it had been frozen for centuries, as if those cigarettes he kept smoking kept the ice from even slightly thawing. Behind his cold gaze, nothing could be seen, although even Krycek could imagine how red the older man’s hands were, soaked in so much blood that they were dripping with it, creating puddles where he stood, running down his fingertips in steady streams, staining his skin with crimson and making them always smell of metal so sharply that he struggled to hide the scent with stale cigarettes and stale beer. But he did seem a little curious, a little intrigued. 

“He did,” Krycek groaned, hiccuping as he did his best to swallow down the burning phlegm in his throat that made his ribs ache each time it threatened to spill, but he swallowed thickly, able to feel it clog in his chest for a moment as he dryly heaved and shuddered. “I was… I was near some…” he heaved again before letting out another harsh cough. “Near some woods, and he… he attacked me.”

“How did you know it was him?” The older man asked, not daring to blink as he took a long drag from his cigarette, tilting his head slightly to the side. 

“The eyes,” the younger man wheezed, his voice croaking and creaking, groaning and grumbling, muttering and mumbling. “It was the eyes…”

“Do you know where they are?” Although it could never be admitted, the cigarette smoking man and his colleagues had not yet managed to find out where you and your company had gone, having gone off of their radar shortly after you had left your flat that first night, and although they had all tried extremely hard to find you, dedicating hours upon hours upon hours a day, not letting their subordinates sleep or even go home, they had yet to so much as catch a whiff of where anyone was; they had tried everything, but every single little lead that they had thought that they had had turned out to be a completely dead end, and they could do nothing but return with empty hands and hollowed spirits. Perhaps dancing with wolves had a lot more technique to it than anyone had once thought. 

“No,” Krycek admitted. “He… he came out of nowhere, Sir… he… he came out of the shadows, and I… I didn’t realise until-” coughing for more moments than what could have been considered normal, Krycek hunched over, able to feel his chest become sore and tight as if all the air and the life had been sucked out of his lungs and his heart and his blood, splattering blood onto the blanket. He leaned back again, daring to lie down as he groaned softly. His voice was hoarse and harsh, wheezing breaths falling from his open and bloody lips, his eyes were tired and worn down from exhaustion, and he struggled to actually get the words out, gasping for air and for something to drink, but he wasn’t about to try and ask for the ruined cup on his bedside table, and he wasn’t going to ask the man before him for a drink, either, he knew far better than that despite his recent disobedience. Although he did hope that one fight that he had not started and that he had only engaged in to try and keep himself from dying could have been forgiven, but he didn’t have a lot of hope in it, and he did have a sneaking suspicion that his wings would be clipped and that he would be left to rot in that hospital bed until he was healed up and until he was better, until he was able to fight again and to get his temporarily clean hands dirty. He had been given a new prosthetic, though, which he didn’t suppose was all that bad, and he did hope that there was some silver in it “I didn’t even realise until I saw those eyes.”

Pausing for a moment, the cigarette smoking man looked at Krycek for a second, not so much as a glint of a droplet of something liquid behind his eyes, sheer ice so thick that it made it seem as if he had icecaps held between his eyelids, but then he looked at the door, and without so much as wishing the younger man a speedy recovery or a promise to visit soon, the cigarette smoking man left, slamming the door behind him; he would have to put in extra effort to try and find out where you were hiding, and where Walter Skinner, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, John Doggett, Monica Reyes, Melvin Frohike, Richard Langly, John Fitzgerald Byers, James Bond, and Yves Adele Harlow were cowering along with you.

Langly and Frohike had swept the cabin and the grounds upon which it laid for anything silver in the morning, shortly after breakfast they had rummaged through the halls and the walls, as although no one had asked them to, they had decided to ensure that there would be nothing lying around to accidentally hurt you or your father, as thanks to the aftermath of your little fight with Krycek, they had seen the damage that even a flick of a silver blade could do; they had been told by Byers that on your shoulder and on your arm, fur refused to grow through the scabs, as if it could no longer grow, as not even the slightest bit of stubble dared to sprout out, leaving you with two distinct bald patches. And thanks to Byers, Langly and Frohike had also found out that age did not seem to affect shifts, as shortly after your fight, your father had gone out looking for Krycek - he could shift on command, rather than needing some form of emotional breakage, and Byers had seen your father do it; he had seen your father shift into much the same wolfish beast that looked like it had cracked bones and dislocated shoulders, a thin coat of fur on his body. His back and his head were such a dark grey that they were nearly black, the fur on his legs were a rusty red sort of colour although slightly paler than what you had, tipped with black paws and a white muzzle; but the rusty colour did bleed, turning his stomach the same colour and parts of his throat the same, and Byers could guess that the white fur on your father’s wolfish muzzle was from age instead and that it had once been the same pale rusted colour. 

Byers wouldn’t have been scared, but the thing that got to him was the fact that your father’s back had sloped thanks to his front legs being longer, and his muzzle was flatter, and more expressive, his eyes were bigger and wider, he looked more human than you did, and unlike you, your father was much bigger; while you stood at around Byers’ waist, just a couple of inches above his hips, your father stood at Byers’ chest, and his paws were as big as his face. Anyone would have been scared. 

But Byers had gone out for a walk during the afternoon, he had left you in the capable hands of Fox Mulder, knowing that your best friend would do everything and anything to keep you safe and to keep you entertained, and he had decided to see where the road would take him; although the cloud of knowing that he was being hunted hung heavily on his shoulder, Byers desperately needed to get away from the cabin to clear his head, as cabin fever had been settling in awfully, but he had stopped along the road to pet a little anatolian shepherd dog that had ran over to him and rubbed itself on his legs when he scratched its ears, leaving his trousers covered in white-ish hairs - the owner had apologised profusely, a man on a hike, but Byers had shrugged and told him it was fine and had shrugged it off, brushing off the hairs when he continued to walk - but then he got back to the cabin, and you pinned him against the wall, taking him by surprise and causing him to gawk as you didn’t dare to look at him, your eyes changing colour to the wolfish glow and your voice resembling a wolf’s growl more than it did a person’s voice, and Byers could not deny that he was a little anxious. 

“Shit,” you snarled, eyes widening and turning back to their normal colour, the glow dying as you retracted your hands, holding them up in surrender as you flashed Byers a look that was more than remorseful and more than destroyed by guilt. You took a step back, unable to believe what you had done, unable to feel anything but your own heart beating harshly in your chest and telling you that you had finally done it, you had finally snapped and almost hurt the man that you loved. “Fuck, Johnny-”

“It’s okay,” he whispered, shaking his head and taking a step forward, but you flinched, and he stopped dead in his tracks, reaching out and gently taking your hands in his own, his fingers laced with yours as he dared to smile. “It’s okay. Look,” he dared to chuckle softly. “I’m okay.”

“I don’t know what-” you shook your head, letting go of his hands and taking a step back again, shaking your head again and again as your voice cracked and you looked at him with fear; but Byers knew that fear too well, he knew it wasn’t that you were scared of him, it was that you were scared of yourself. He had seen the same fear in your eyes the first time you had shifted around him. You took another step back, hunching over slightly, turning your body as if you did not want to be seen. “It was the smell, I- I don’t-”

“Look at me, Rin Tin Tin,” Byers said softly, kindly, crouching down slightly so that you were forced to either look at him or the ground, and when you chose the latter, he frowned. “You didn’t hurt me.”

You shook your head, whispering that you were a monster, whispering and muttering for him to go away, to run away from you and to go find somewhere safe, as you could feel yourself start to shift, you could feel your teeth start to grow and the monster inside of you clawing at your throat to get out, your eyes stained with tears as you begged him to leave and to go find somewhere safe; but Byers didn’t dare to move, he didn’t dare to move as he slowly took off his blazer, draping it across the back of the sofa, he removed the sterling silver cufflinks that he had on, a sign of trust as he placed them far away before returning to kneeling in front of you, he could see the blood starting to trickle out of your mouth as it always did, but he gently grew closer, slow in his movements until he was close enough to pull you down to your knees, tenderly cupping your cheeks and doing his best not to show how unsettled he was by the blood in your mouth as he smiled, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“(y/n) (y/l/n),” he said calmly, or rather, as calmly as he could. “(y/n) (y/l/n), my Rin Tin Tin… don’t… come back to me.”

Your glowing eyes met his, a strangled noise from the back of your throat that was somewhere between an animalistic growl and a broken voice, and you squeezed your eyes tightly shut, moving to press your face into his shoulder. Something like a mangled sob fell from your mouth, something between a melancholic howl and a cry for help, but Byers had an idea of what might have helped. 

“(y/n) (y/l/n), listen to me,” he whispered, and although he was far from anywhere good at it, he dared to sing something that he had heard Fox sing to you when you were going to shift - it never worked with him, but Byers had hope that perhaps things would be a little different when he tried. “Your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones, turn into something beautiful, do you know? You know I love you so, you know I love you so... I swam across, I jumped across for you, oh what a thing to doc 'cause you were all yellow, I drew a line, I drew a line for you... oh what a thing to do, and it was all yellow. Your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones, turn into something beautiful - do you know? For you I'd bleed myself dry, for you I'd bleed myself dry.” He paused when he felt you shudder, daring to place one hand at the back of your neck, the other on your back as he hung his head and whispered, “(y/n) (y/l/n), for you, I would bleed myself dry…”

You could feel the monster start to retreat, its terrible tail tucked between its legs, and although your mouth was still soaked with blood and you could tell that your eyes were still faintly glowing, you knew that he had somehow prevented your shift, which left you gawking at him when you pulled away, your hands on his shoulders as you stared at him, your brows furrowed and your mouth wide open; no one had ever done that before, and when the initial shock mostly faded, you tackled him, forcing him onto his back as you laid on top of him, pressing your face into his throat as you closed your eyes and sighed heavily. Byers knew you weren’t going to hurt him, he didn’t mind that he had been made to lie on the floor, his knees still bent as he kept you close and let out a melancholic sigh, almost breaking. Fuck, more than anything, he wanted to break and to tell you what he felt and why he genuinely just wanted to know that you were safe and that you didn’t hurt him and that he could, on some level, understand why you had pinned him against the wall and snarled at him, but he new that he couldn’t, just as he knew that he couldn’t allow himself the luxury to admit how he felt for you, just as he knew that he would never have the privilege to tell you that, every time you walked into the room, he could feel himself relax and he could tell that everything was going to be fine; he couldn’t tell you that, every little touch and every little look from you made him blush and made his heart skip a beat; he couldn’t tell you that, even at your worst moments, he never saw you as anything but the man that he loved more than anything else, and that, in his dreams, he would often think about what it would have been like to have escaped with you to somewhere in the suburbs, maybe wear a wedding band on his left hand with your initials carved into it, maybe give you one that matched with his own initials, a life in the suburbs with you was something he could never seem to shake from his dreams. The white picket fence life. A heart that finally had a beat. But he could never tell you such a thing, and it made him frown as he allowed you to slowly come down and to bring yourself back, letting him go and leaving him cold as you tore yourself away, moving over to the nearest wall and sitting with your back pressed against it, hugging your knees as you hung your head. 

“Fuck me, am I an idiot…” 

“You’re the smartest idiot I know,” Byers said gently, moving to side beside you, leaning against you as he dared to reach for your hand again, lacing his fingers with yours as he dared to flash you a smile. “That, uh, that’s never happened before, h- has it?”

It took you a moment, but you shook your head, sighing heavily as you leaned into him. “No… no one’s been able to stop a shift before…”

You were losing your control, losing your grip, and you could feel it in your bones like a dull break that had not fully snapped yet, you could feel it burning in your heart, and although you would have done anything to stop it, you knew that there was nothing that could; the more you thought about it, the more the cigarette smoking man’s words echoed in your head, so loud and so clear that you could hear them as if he were standing right in front of you, puffing and huffing on one of those disgustingly stale cigarettes. 

“Mister (y/l/n), when a dog goes rabid, what do you do with it? You shoot it, right between the eyes.”

That alone made you whimper and squeeze Byers’ hand a little bit, too wary of your own strength to dare to let yourself relax and try to find solace in how his skin was on yours and he was safe, and he was beside you. But then you thought of Krycek’s final words to you, and you couldn’t help but to let out a soft whine, just loud enough to capture Byers’ attention and concern as your mind flashed back to the fight and what Krycek had said. 

"As soon as I find out where you’re hiding,” he had spat, “I am going to come after you, and all of your little friends, and you’re all going to pay…” he paused, then he laughed. “I’ll let you live this once, if only because I wanna wait until you and all your little friends are together, so I can watch them all beg for your life and I can rub their noses in it before I make them suffer.”

“Rin Tin Tin,” Byers said softly, daring to rub his thumb along your knuckles as he gently placed one hand on your knee, pressing down softly and causing your legs to stretch out as you looked at him with a pained look. “Tell me what’s wrong, please?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to admit what was wrong, just as you could not admit to him that you knew that everything was your own fault, and that the reason he had had to uproot his entire life for the time being and for the foreseeable future was because of you, because of the monster that you were; you flinched, shaking your head as you stood up and took a few steps back, holding your hands out and showing him your palms as that wild and spooked look came back to your eyes. 

“Get away from me, John,” you said, your voice breaking and cracking as you choked back a sob, swallowing thickly as you took another step back. “I’m… I’m gonna hurt you, g- go away.” Tears were welling in your eyes as you let out a ragged breath. “I’m dangerous…”

Slowly, Byers moved to stand up, holding your gaze as he raised his hands in surrender, showing you that he was no threat as he looked at you as if you had put a knife through his chest and opened it up, splitting his ribs and bringing his heart to your mouth, taking a bite out of it, a spot of blood coating the tip of your nose. He looked like he was in agony. “You won’t hurt me, (Y/n). You’re not dangerous, not to me… please.”

“John, I… I don’t wanna hurt you,” you cried, whimpering and whining as you took another step back. Everything was your fault, everything that had happened was your fault, you had put Byers directly in the line of fire, directly at risk and in danger, it was all your fault, and there was nothing you could do to protect him except to push him away, you could not do anything and you could not turn to anyone to try and protect him, as as long as he was near you, you knew that he would always be in danger; you knew that it was a case of either you inevitably hurting him or worse, or someone else doing it. That cigarette smoking cunt would make sure of that, he would probably make Byers suffer, he would probably make you do it with your own hands without realising, only to remove the tarp and to reveal that you were crushing Byers’ ribs, blood on your hands, his heart in your mouth between your teeth, his blood on your lips and coating your teeth, his dying breath a betrayed whisper of your name that you would never hear, you would have to live with that, you would have to live with knowing that the cigarette smoking man had made you kill the only person you would ever love. You could see it so clearly, you could see it so clearly that it made your stomach churn just to think of it, you could see Byers impaled on a wooden pike, halfway down it as the sharp end stuck out of his mouth, his blood and his organs coated on the rotting bark, his eyes still open, your hands trembling as you watched his lifeless body shake with the onsets of rigor mortis, you could taste his heart in your mouth as you chewed on it, the blood on the tip of your nose making it sticky and wet, little bits of moss and blood and flesh on your fingers. You had done it. You had impaled him. You killed him. 

“You won’t,” Byers said softly, snapping you out of your own gory thoughts as he shook his head, insistent. “Just listen to me, (y/n), listen to my voice.” 

He had seen how your eyes had clouded over, and not just from the tears in your eyes, he could see how you had left your own body for a moment to think of something that you had dreaded to imagine, and he knew, he knew that he had to pull you out of it before you lost yourself and decided that you were too dangerous to be around him; but he couldn’t allow you to think such a thing, he could never let you think that, even for a second, you would hurt him, as he knew that that would be the last thing that you would even think of. He never wanted you to hate yourself for the things that you had been led to believe. But he knew, he knew that the fights with Krycek and the threat of being hunted down like a rabid dog by the cigarette smoking man had taken its toll on you, and had backed you into a corner. He knew that you were trying to distance yourself and to push him away out of fear, but he couldn’t let that happen. 

You stared at him, that same wild and feral look in your eyes like a cornered dog, hackled raised so to speak, your body hunched over as you shook your head at him, not wanting him to get too close; so he didn’t, he stayed where he was standing, not wanting to make you even more scared of yourself, his hands by his sides although his palms still up so that you could see that he wasn’t going to do anything, that he wasn’t going to come closer as he nodded curtly at you, swallowing thickly. 

“Listen to me,” Byers pressed, “listen to my voice. Okay? Listen. I know… good lord, (Y/n), I know it’s hard, I know you can’t stop thinking about being hunted, I know you can’t stop thinking about what he said to you, and I… I know that you think you’re going to hurt me, but I know you, I know you better than I know most people, and I know… I know that you would never hurt me, I know that you would never hurt me. Please. Don’t… don’t push me away. I-” he caught himself just before he could break, shaking his head and clearing his throat before he continued, “you’re my friend, Rin Tin Tin, please, don’t push me away. Don’t… don’t push me away.” He was begging, now. “I need you… I need you because you… good grief, you make me braver, and you… you make me want to be a better man, but… it’s more than that because… because no matter how scared I get, I know that I can always count on you and I can always trust you, no matter what happens… don’t push me away, please, please… come back to me.”

You were reluctant, haunted by what your imagination had told you and although you wanted to run and to never look back, although you wanted to bolt out of the door and to abandon everyone in hopes that it would keep Byers safe, you could not help but to be relaxed by his honeyed words, his sweet comments, his sugary begging, and although you were reluctant, you slowly made your way over to him, sniffing at the air; coffee and ink, his usual scent that he always tried to cover up with aftershave and cologne that never quite did the job; you were hesitant to reach out for him and to beg and whine and plead and whimper for his touch, for that reassuring physical contact that you craved so much, you still dared to prowl up to him and to press your head to his throat like you did all the time, and although he was unsure of whether or not you would be alright with him touching you, Byers could tell that you needed something, so he gently and slowly allowed his arms to sneak under yours, his hands landing between your shoulder blades as he pulled you in close, letting you pull away enough to wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting out a soft sniffle as you placed your face against the side of his neck, choking back a sob as you dared to allow him to hold you tightly. Although you could hear people talking upstairs and although you could hear someone saying that they were going to see what the commotion had been about, you couldn’t bring yourself to let Byers go, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away even when Fox came trudging down the stairs, everyone lined up along the stairs to get a look at what was going on, but when they saw you sobbing into Byers’ neck, they couldn’t help but to all slowly back up the stairs and head to what they had originally been doing - watching ‘Cannibal Ferox’ - as they all knew that you both needed some time; but Fox wasn’t so convinced, clearing his throat as he waltzed up to you and Byers, slapping your back gently as he dared to smile at you both, standing a little to the side but keeping his voice quiet as he dared to ask if everything was alright, if something else had happened. 

“He managed to do it,” you whispered, wiping the tears from your eyes after reluctantly breaking away from Byers. “Fox, John managed to stop it.”

Fox’s face fell for a moment as he looked between you and Byers, he couldn’t count how many times he had tried and failed to stop your shift, he couldn’t count the amount of different techniques he had tried and the different places you had been with him when he had tried to stop it, each time failing more quickly than the last. “You managed to stop (y/n) from shifting?”

Byers nodded slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, wrapping one arm around you and letting his hand fall into your back pocket in a daring move, but it only seemed to make you relax as you leaned into him, pressing yourself into his side as he dared to answer your best friend. “I, uh, yes. Yes, I managed to stop the shift.”

With that, four pairs of footsteps came bounding down the stairs; your father, followed by Skinner, followed by Langly, followed by Frohike, and while they did skid a little bit on the floor, the four stopped beside Fox with confused glares. Clearly, they had heard. 

“Come outside,” your father grumbled, gesturing for the five of you to follow him out of the door, he led you all down to where the campfire still stood despite being unlit and unused, and he glared at you with hellfire behind his eyes. “Did I hear that correctly? Did he really stop your shift?”

You nodded, looking between your father and Byers nervously. “Dad-”

But he smiled, looking at Byers with an excited and wolfish grin before he tackled the younger man, crushing him against his chest as he laughed giddily. “This is wonderful news!”

“Uh, excuse the ignorance,” Frohike spoke up, clearing his throat. “But how, exactly, is that good news besides… y’know?”

“Stopping a shift is a big deal,” Skinner said. 

“Seriously?” Langly questioned. 

“From what I’ve found in previous X-Files, it’s incredibly rare,” Fox added. “I’ve tried it, but it’s worked.” 

Letting go of Byers, your father grinned and beamed at the group, nodding enthusiastically. “Stopping a shift can only be done when a werewolf has complete trust and emotional bonding with someone… some people say it’s a sign of being soulmates, if you believe in that… others say it’s a sign of being someone’s true love… it’s not necessarily a romantic link, though, it can be platonic - although, I suppose, soulmates don’t have to be romantic, now, do they? I mean, (y/n) and Fox are soulmates.”

“Thanks,” you grumbled, shaking your head and sighing, crushing yourself into Byers’ side once more. “But do you have to make such a big deal of this?”

“Of course I do!” Your father howled, if he had had a tail, it would have been wagging. “Something like this has to be celebrated!”

“No.” You deadpanned. “Absolutely not.” 

“What I’m hearing is that, even though they won’t admit it, (y/n) and Byers are meant to be,” Frohike muttered to Fox and Langly, causing them to chuckle and to giggle, muttering in agreement amongst themselves until you shot them a glare to shut them up. 

“Does this mean we should keep an extra eye on both of them?” Skinner asked of your father. “Just to make sure that someone won’t try to hurt one to get to the other.”

“No,” your father shook his head, he sounded a little relieved. “No, they should be fine - so long as that information doesn’t leave the six of us… I trust your friends, I really do, but that kind of information can’t get out to anyone.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to keep a secret,” Skinner agreed with a nod. 

“Totally,” Frohike confirmed, clearing his throat and looking at you and Byers, who looked less than thrilled about everyone suddenly crowding around you both, so he dared to smile a little, and he sighed. “Hey, Langly, Mulder, why, uh, why don’t we go check out that lead on Krycek we found earlier?”

Fox and Langly shared a look, just a quick glance, before they agreed to Frohike’s suggestion, wishing both you and Byers luck before they dared to take off running towards the cabin. But Frohike stuck around for just long enough to apologise for eavesdropping before he, too, made his way to the cabin. 

“Dad-”

“It’s okay,” your father smiled at you kindly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I just… if John here stopped a shift, that- son, no one has ever been able to do that with me, it’s… it’s a big deal. Most werewolves, they don’t… they don’t find that person that can do that.” 

“I know, but…” you sighed, shaking your head and daring to smile back at him weakly. “Forget it.”

Your father’s gaze shifted to Byers, then, and he chuckled softly. “Thank you.”

“You’re, uh, you’re well- welcome, Sir,” Byers managed to say, stumbling over his words, his features crimson as bloodshed as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. 

“I’ll go put some dinner on,” your father said softly, giving you a tight hug and a scratch on the head before he walked away, leaving you and Byers alone with Skinner, who looked less than pleased about the entire situation. 

“I don’t usually get involved with these kinds of things,” Skinner stated, making you roll your eyes as you thought about that day at the ice rink, but he continued after shooting you a glare, “but you two need to sort things out. We can’t handle the Krycek situation properly if you two are distracted and can’t think properly, is that understood?”

“Yes, Uncle Skinner,” you sighed, thankful that he was a little bit more professional and didn’t pry into your business for once. 

“O- of course, Assistant Director Skinner,” Byers nodded curtly, swallowing thickly. “We’ll handle it.”

“You better,” he warned, glaring at you and Byers. “I’ll try and keep everyone inside while you two talk things through.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you nodded, waiting for him to walk away before you collapsed onto one of the seats, your head in your hands as you let out a quiet howl. “Fuck! Fuck me! Fuck this! Fuck that! Fuck fucking everything!”

Frowning, Byers gingerly sat down beside you, crossing one leg over the other at the knee as he sighed, licking his lips and trying to think of what he could say, what he could do, to take away some of your frustration; this was his chance to break at last, this was his chance to tell you everything that had been on his mind and then some, this was his chance to tell you all of the little things that he was so eager to tell you but couldn’t for fear of breaking. For fear that you didn’t love him back. This was his chance to tell you that he would have never been more happy to be broken than if you were holding the hammer. This was his chance to tell you that he couldn’t stop dreaming about escaping to the suburbs together and starting a life together and being happy together. This was his chance to tell you that he loved you and that he would have done anything for you and that, although he wasn’t the type, he was willing to fight for you and to keep you safe. This was his chance. It was his chance, but Byers couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything because he worried if you would even accept his love if you felt the same, he couldn’t say anything because he kept thinking about what the cigarette smoking man had told him, and he worried that he was putting you in danger. He couldn’t say anything because he knew that anything that you felt for anyone had been put on the back burner for the time being until the issue with Krycek and the cigarette smoking men were resolved. And while he did respect your boundaries and while he did respect your priorities, Byers wanted to tell you how he felt, how deeply and madly and truly and wonderfully and painfully he felt for you. 

“Tell me a lie,” you whispered eventually, your voice hoarse and broken, you rested your head on his shoulder as you frowned, letting out a harsh sigh as you rested one hand on his thigh. “Please, Johnny, just… tell me a lie.”

“I need your expert fighting skills,” he said softly, laying an arm across your shoulders, his hand steadily rubbing up and down your bicep as he dared to smile a little. 

You sighed again, heavy and full of burden, marbled snow on a block of ice. “Tell me another lie.”

“I don’t love you...” he whispered, chewing at the inside of his lip as you fell silent, closing your eyes and swallowing thickly, your grip on his thigh getting a little tighter but not uncomfortably so; he hoped that you would understand, more than he hoped that you had any feelings for him, he did genuinely hope that you would understand and that, somehow, you would admit that you loved him, too, but as you sat there together, no words dared to form and to leave your mouth, no words dared to leak from your lips as you simply stayed put. Byers thought he was being an idiot at first, but then you angled your head, and he felt something warm and sweet again his neck, and while it did take him a second, he realised that you were kissing his neck, and his breath hitched in his throat as he did his best not to grin, feeling himself freeze up and turn bright red. You even dared to kiss his throat and to kiss the spot just below his adam’s apple, which only furthered his complete shock as he did his best to show you that he liked it and he was quite enjoying it despite the fact that he could not move, that he could only sit there and smile and look a little bit like the skunk from ‘Bambi’. But nothing was said. Silence seemed to be as golden as anything, and although he did almost want to, Byers knew that it was best that he should remain silent, daring to bite back his smile as he leaned into you and melted against you, letting you kiss his neck and his throat for however long you wanted to. He would have stayed there for years if you would have allowed him to. He would have quite happily stayed there until his bones turned to ash and his flesh was ravaged by scavenger birds. He would have stayed there for forever and day was he allowed. But then you moved, and you pulled away, clearing your throat and looking down at the ground, wondering how you could be so stupid. 

You were going to hurt him, or worse, you knew that fact all too well and it was making your stomach churn as you thought about it and as you tried to figure out what you were supposed to do; you were going to hurt him, you were going to rip his out of his chest and hold onto it as you sank your teeth into it, canines tugging and pulling at the bloodied arteries and valves, you were a monster and there would be nothing that could take away the pain if you ever lost control, if you ever let go and if you ever dared to slip slightly. The only thing that could come of something between you and Byers would be his death, his pain, and that was not something that you wanted to live with; that was not a burden that you could ever bring yourself to even think of carrying. You were a monster, a monster with blood on his hands and stains on his teeth, you were a monster capable of nothing but violence. Even if Byers did love you, even if he did understand the risk he was taking by being with you and by loving you, even if he was willing to accept every little risk, you knew that you could never let him that close, you couldn’t. The thought of hurting him, even by sheer accident, was enough to make you sick as you swiped a hand down your face and grumbled softly, shaking your head and cursing yourself. Even though he had told you that you had not hurt him earlier, you still saw the way that he was wincing, that there were bruises forming where you had placed your hands when you pinned him against the wall. Maybe the cigarette smoking man was right, you thought, maybe you did deserve to be shot between the eyes, maybe you were truly nothing more than a rabid dog in need of being put down. You had caused so much hurt and so much chaos already, perhaps it would have been best if you had allowed the cigarette smoking man to put you down, or Krycek, although you doubted that after what you had done to him last time you had fought. But then you dared to look up at Byers from the corner of your eye, and you sighed heavily, wondering, pondering, asking yourself if you were willing to put him even more into harm’s way just to be able to tell him those three words that you had thought of for so long. You wanted to love him but you knew you could never touch him. You wanted to hold him but your senses told you to stop. You wanted to kiss him but you wanted it too much. You wanted to taste him on the tip of your tongue, but you knew that that was about as deadly as the bite of a rattlesnake. He was your biggest weakness, he was a silver necklace around your throat. He was the silver chains around your wrists and ankles that you never wanted to break even though they were scarring you. You tore your gaze back down to the ground, running a hand through your hair as you sighed heavily, chewing at the inside of your lip so much that you could feel the slight sting when you yanked the flesh away, your mouth crying red tears that had yet to be shown. Your hands were shaky when you went to pull out your cigarettes, but Byers was quick to guess what you wanted, and he was gentle as he pulled the packet from your pocket and offered it to you; he hated smoking, he could not stand it in the slightest, but even still, when you put the cigarette in your mouth, he took the lighter from the packet, and cupped one hand around the end of your cigarette as he dared to light it for you, letting you gently hold his wrist as he looked into your eyes with a frown, swallowing thickly when he saw the smear of orange blood on the end of the filter. He hated that you were bleeding but that you didn’t even tell him why or how he could help, he hated the way you winced when part of the skin on your lip was ripped off by the cigarette, he hated the way your teeth seemed to chew at the inside of your own mouth as if you were trying to bite out the muscles. He hated that he was the cause of it. Dancing with wolves was clearly not as easy as it once was, dancing with wolves was clearly something far out of his range of talent and skill. 

“I fucking hate myself,” you grumbled after a while, shaking your head and scoffing, a bitter chuckle leaving your lips as you took a long drag from your cigarette. Byers knew his input wasn’t wanted, so he waited for you to speak again. “It was… fuck me, it was so fucking stupid of me to think that someone like you could ever be with someone like me, Johnny… shit, do you realise the kind of bullshit you’d be stepping in if you got involved with me?”

He knew what you were talking about, what you were getting at, and although his every instinct was telling him to keep quiet and to just listen to your lamentation and your woeful speeches, he couldn’t sit idly by and allow you to torture yourself with your own thoughts, he couldn’t sit idly by and allow you to be so cruel to the man he loved. “I do, actually. I know exactly what kind of… what kind of trouble I could get into if I got involved with you, (y/n). And I’ve thought of it, I’ve taken it into consideration, but every conclusion that I come to is that… I love you. Even, even if you don’t want me to, I don’t, and nothing will ever change that.”

“What if I hurt you?” You whispered, tilting your head slightly so that you could look up at him, your arms resting on your knees as you hunched over and did your best not to show just exactly how bad your own mental torture was, trying to act as if you did not vividly imagine him impaled on a wooden stake because of what you were, trying to act as if you did not know that his pain and his hurt and his inevitable death would always be caused by you, no matter how much you tried to play with fate. “Would you still love me if I fucking grabbed your heart and ate it?”

A little disgusted by the thought of such a thing happening, Byers’ eyes widened slightly, but he soon offered a kind smile, resting a hand between your shoulder blades as he nodded. “Of course I would… because I know what you’re like, (y/n), and I know that you wouldn’t do such a thing if you could prevent it. I know that you wouldn’t hurt me, because I know you wouldn’t want to.”

“You saw what I did earlier,” you growled. “I could’ve… you know-”

“You didn’t,” he told you gently, shaking his head, but his hand soon dropped to your thigh as he gently patted it. “I’m going to talk to Mulder inside… do you want to come with me, or do you want some space?”

“I’m staying here,” you insisted, shaking your head and letting Byers leave, unable to bring yourself to turn around to look at his backside as you always did. 

Your gaze focused to the ground, even when you heard the first rumbles of thunder, smoking cigarettes in succession until the rain gently fell upon your body, you didn’t even move when, after a while, it grew into an entire storm; thunder and lightning crashing overhead, gods fighting in the heavens, the rain gushing down and soaking you to the bone. But you didn’t even think to move or to go inside, too stuck in your own misery, too full of your own woe to bother. You hardly even noticed the chill that licked at your flesh and left a trail of goosebumps along your arms and made the hair on the back of your neck stick up. You hardly even noticed when the sun had shied away and left the world in a bed of darkness. You might have failed to have noticed, but Byers didn’t; he had been in the kitchen when he noticed, his instincts kicking in before rational thought could; he had run all the way down to the spot where you were sat, and although he was breathing heavily and felt as if he was going to collapse, and although he knew that he struggled to lift up a full petrol can, he dared to - quite clumsily - pick you up, letting your legs dangle over one arm and your back press against the other; he struggled, a lot if he was honest, and he did find it extremely difficult not to drop you, and although you howled in protest and wriggled and barked out a question of what the fuck did he think he was doing, Byers didn’t let you go until you were on the sofa. He said nothing, trying to hide his blush for the most part, until he wandered off and came back with a towel and some dry clothes, but you didn’t fail to notice the scent of something of his buried beneath your jogging bottoms.

“You could have caught your death out there,” he said softly, kneeling in front of you and daring to dry your hair for you, smiling when your leg bounced a little and a grumble escaped from the back of your throat. But he was deadly serious when he draped the towel around your neck, holding the corners in his hands as he frowned, hanging his head and letting out a harsh sigh. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want to come inside, I shouldn’t-”

“It’s fine,” you said gently, shaking your head, but when you caught a glimpse of Fox and Doggett and Skinner and Jimmy and Yves and Scully and Reyes and Frohike and Langly dangling themselves over the bannister to watch whatever you and Byers were doing, you scoffed, daring to laugh a little. “I don’t suppose you lot have ever heard of something called privacy, have you?”

Awkward glances and cleared throats and half stuttered apologies sounded from the stairs as they disappeared again, although you could still hear them whispering amongst one another about what they thought was going on; it made you roll your eyes as you grabbed the clothes that Byers had brought you, abandoning him for a moment. But while you were gone, Byers had dared to try and read one of the newspapers in the kitchen, after making himself a cup of coffee, he leaned against the counter as he read it, doing his best not to smile when you came back, tugging your shirt - which was really his but he had decided to let you borrow it - on but leaving it open as you pressed your chest to his back, leaning over him so that you could take a little gander at the newspaper. 

“Group of college students found dead in the Amazon after plane crash,” you hummed, a little shocked by the headline but not too much. “Only one survivor, a lawyer’s daughter, was found alive, her travelling companions are confirmed dead… huh. Isn’t that the sorta thing you’d investigate?”

“It would be,” Byers admitted quietly. “But it just seems like the plane went down because of engine failure, I can’t see any reason why there might be a conspiracy behind it.”

“Well, you’re smarter than me,” you said gently, resting your chin on his shoulder as he turned the page. “Plus, what the fuck do I know about conspiracy theories outside of fucking getting threatened by some cigarette smoking motherfucker?”

Byers laughed a little at that, a slight sadness to it as he nodded and hummed quietly, not minding that you were practically hanging off of him as you tilted your head, your temple against his. “I’m sorry if I… if I pushed things too far by… by telling you that-”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmured, laying your hand on his other shoulder as you let out a shaky breath. “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me, I mean… shit, I’m acting like a fucking idiot because every… Johnny, every time I think about what it would be like if we were together, I can’t help but to think of every single little thing that could go wrong between us, especially… especially if I lost control and I ended up hurting you, or, or worse.”

“But you saw it yourself,” he murmured. “If I can… if I can stop you from shifting, then… then you won’t lose control. And you won’t hurt me.”

He had a point. You couldn’t deny that he definitely had a point. Now that you knew that Byers could stop you from shifting, perhaps that meant that it would be so much less likely that you would lose control and that you would end up hurting him. Perhaps, now that he could stop your shifts, it would have made things that little bit easier and would have taken some of the risks of being together away. But all the same, you couldn’t help but to grumble and to pull away, clutching the side of your head as if it was hurting and throbbing in agony, shaking your head and whining in discontent when the cigarette smoking man’s words echoed through your mind; wildly, your eyes searched the room for him, believing him to be stood right next to you or right beside you, you could feel your teeth start to try and break out as his words echoed in your head and in the room. 

“Mister (y/l/n), when a dog goes rabid, what do you do with it? You shoot it, right between the eyes.”

You swallowed thickly, looking around wildly time and time again as you whimpered and tried to will the voice away, but it wouldn’t go, it wouldn’t go away, sticking in the air as if he was right in front of you with that sickly smell of stale cigarettes, repeating it over and over and over and over; but then another voice broke into the air, and you were looking into Byers’ eyes as he dared to offer a small smile, holding onto your wrists gently. His mouth was moving, and you knew that words were coming from his mouth, but all the same, you couldn’t hear what he was saying, too caught up in the words of the cigarette smoking man… until his voice started to fade, and Byers’ started to become louder. 

“Rin Tin Tin,” he was saying, “it’s me, it’s John… can you hear me? It’s me, it’s John, I’m here.”

That was all he was saying, over and over, attempting to pull you out of things without completely blowing you off and dismissing what was happening and without indulging in whatever horrible hallucination you were having, he just kept repeating the same thing, hopeful that you would eventually come back to him, he just kept repeating it until you stared into his eyes and relaxed, your breathing ragged and shallow, your hands shaking as you slowly retracted them from the sides of your head, lowering your hands to your sides and allowing Byers to gently lace his fingers with yours. 

"What happened?" He asked softly, kindly, a hint of understanding but more careful concern and woeful worry in his eyes more than anything else, making you swallow thickly as you shook your head, stumbling as you let go of his hands and lunged forward, letting one arm go over his shoulder, the other snaking beneath his arm as you clung onto the back of his shirt, letting out a shallow breath as you trembled and allowed him to wrap his arms around you, able to feel his arms against your ribs as you squeezed your eyes tightly shut. "Rin Tin Tin?" 

"I heard it," you could hardly speak, your voice hoarse and raw, full of fear that smelled awful. "I heard it, Johnny… I… I heard his voice, and it…" 

"It's okay," he hushed, shaking his head and keeping you close to his body. "I'm here. I've got you. You're going to be okay." 

You allowed him to keep a hold of you for a good while, silence becoming more and more golden by the second until you dared to move away, swallowing thickly once more in a vain attempt to regain your voice; but you said nothing as you went up the stairs, grabbing Doggett by the sleeve and pulling him into the room he was sharing with Frohike and closing the door gently behind you.

"John." 

"(Y/n)," Doggett nodded, taking a seat at the edge of the windowsill and folding his arms across his chest. "Everything good?" 

"No," you admitted with a shake of your head. "I think… I think I've been having hallucinations. A-aud-audi-auditory ones." 

"Okay." He nodded again, merely to let you know that he was listening. 

"I… ever since the day he threatened me, I kept hearing his voice in my head," you told him, pacing back and forth like a caged wolf, knowing that any moment you could lash out and break the steel bars with solid canine teeth. "And it's like he's in the fucking room with me… and… shit, I don't know what to do." 

"Neither do I," Doggett admitted. That was why you wanted to talk to him, because at the end of the day, he was the most quiet, and he was the one to admit that he didn't know what the fuck you were supposed to do; you didn't want reassurance, or an indulging of what you had heard, and although you loved Byers more than anything, you didn't need him in that moment. You needed Doggett, you needed your friend. "Distraction?" 

"Distraction," you nodded. "T- take John, and Fox… set… set something up, like a little party or some bullshit, a film night." 

"I'm on it," Doggett nodded dutifully, but before he left, he dared to grab you, pulling you into one of his famous hugs, which were very much like your father's. "Hey… it's gonna be okay. You got everyone here, you don't have to do anything alone if you don't want to." 

"Thanks," you murmured, letting him leave you as you usurped his seat, sighing heavily and running a hand through your hair. But soon enough, Frohike was walking in, gently closing the door behind him. 

"Hey, Marmaduke," he said fondly, although there was a certain concern in his voice. "Doggett said to visit you one at a time, so I figured I'd go first." 

"Hey, Frohike," you grumbled. "You don't need to worry, I'm fine. Honestly." 

"I know that's bullshit," he said gently, daring to sit beside you. "Come on, tell old uncle Frohike all about it.”

“Fuck off,” you dared to chuckle, although the grumble still remained in the back of your throat as you rolled your eyes and shoved him playfully. “Seriously, man, I’m fine. Nothing wrong with me at all. You know me, Frohike, when am I ever not fine?”

“That’s what worries me,” he admitted with a slight frown, but even Frohike knew when it was best to shut up and to not push his luck with such things; he knew that whatever had happened down the stairs was between you and Byers, and although he would peak round the bannister with the others to take a quick look, he would never talk to you about it unless if you wanted to, first. “I won’t push my luck with you, Scooby-Doo, but… just know that I’m here, okay? Anything you need. Anything at all, I’m here.”

“I know,” you said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder and flashing him that smile that was bright and warm but with a hidden sadness lurking behind the closed lips. “I know… thanks.”

“Anything for you,” Frohike replied, “you know we care about you, man, you’re our favourite werewolf.”

A scoff of laughter left your lips before you allowed Frohike to leave, replaced by Langly, who folded their arms across their chest and leaned against the closed door. 

“You and Byers, huh?”

“Something like that,” you shrugged. “Spare the speeches, Ringo, I ain’t in the mood and I-”

“Like I’d ever give a speech,” they scoffed, shaking their head. “I just wanted to see how you were, see if you got little Timmy out of the well in the end.”

You dared to laugh a little, rolling your eyes at the comment before yawning so much that you could feel your throat being pulled and tugged, as if your jaw was trying to make room for a shattered bone, as if your jaw had become reptilian for a moment, making those ligaments in the jaw stretch like an anaconda’s. Your eyes even watered, and you could feel your head spin a little, but you didn’t take much notice of it, not until you realised that your canines were slightly longer than usual - not by much, mind, not by much at all, just slightly stretched, and you could tell Langly was looking at the sharp teeth with curiosity. You didn’t care if they were, if you were honest, you didn’t really care or think too much of it - people looked, people stared, it wasn’t exactly extraordinary. It was expected. 

“Well, y’know, it’s hard work being Ace the Wonder Dog all the time,” you joked weakly, shaking your head as you scoffed. “Shit takes a toll, at the end of the day.” 

“I can tell,” they nodded, running a hand through their hair as they bit at the inside of their lip. “You don’t need to lie to us, y’know, if you… if there’s something you want to talk about, you can just say.”

“I’m pretty sure you guys wouldn’t wanna know,” you chuckled, shaking your head again. “Trust me, if you knew half of the shit I thought on the daily… nah, I’m good, man.”

Langly knew that you were lying, they knew that you were far from good or fine or alright or okay, they knew that there was something you weren’t saying, but even so, they supposed that if you didn’t want to talk about it, then who were they to have pressured you into opening your mouth and into daring to speak? Who were they to try and make you talk when you didn’t want to? 

So instead, they nodded, and they looked around the room for a second to try and think of something else to switch the subject to. 

“Y’know, I think Doggett said he was gonna take Byers and Mulder out to grab some stuff,” they shrugged. “I think he said they’re gonna throw a party or something, like we’re all back in school or some dumb shit.”

“That was my idea,” you told them with a hint of a smile. “I know it sucks, but… fuck, I need a distraction from all the bullshit lately, man.”

“I get it,” they said quietly, feeling a little guilty for their previous comment. “Maybe I should go help - I know Mulder and Byers know you best, but…”

“But Mulder sucks at this shit,” you laughed with a nod. “And so do Byers and Doggett.” You got up, crossing the room, you placed your hands on Langly’s shoulders, and dared to smile. “I’m counting on you to make sure that there’s taste.”

“I’m your guy,” Langly smiled back, letting you yank them close enough to press your forehead against theirs for a second before they dared to leave, offering you one last smile and a playful salute. “I won’t let you down.”

The next to come and see you was Jimmy, who took a seat at the edge of the bed, his hands between his knees, bouncing his leg as he looked at you like a kicked puppy-dog while you smoked a cigarette and sat on the windowsill. 

“Agent Doggett said you didn’t feel okay,” Jimmy pouted, tilting his head to the side and frowning. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Jimmy, the more people ask me that question, the more I wish I was the kind of werewolf that rips people’s throats out,” you dryly joked, glaring at him for a moment before sighing and swallowing thickly. “I’m sorry, man, I don’t wanna snap at you, I didn’t mean to get snappy, I mean… just fed up, y’know?”

“No, no, I get it,” Jimmy nodded slowly, unclasping his hands and leaning back, pressing his palms into the thick duvet. “Hey, do you wanna hear something funny?”

“Do tell,” you hummed with a little smile. 

“In the papers Byers had me looking through, there was an article about how an alligator knocked a cop out with its tail,” he grinned, clearly holding back a laugh, and although you tried not to, although you tried to remain stoic in favour of not choking on smoke, you couldn’t help but to snicker a little bit, a huff of pale grey coming from your nostrils as you did your best not to choke on your cigarette. 

“Seriously?” You chuckled, raising a brow. 

Jimmy nodded, clearly quite proud of himself for making you laugh a little bit. “Yeah, and it took a bite out of the car, too!” 

You threw your cigarette out of the window so that you could laugh without risking a choking hazard, leaning your head back against the cold glass as you smiled and closed your eyes, your head tilted back slightly so that you were facing more towards the ceiling than towards Jimmy; but he didn’t mind, he didn’t mind in the slightest, instead preferring to look at how the window became covered in little marks from the light splattering rain, watching the biggest raindrop cascade down the glass with a little smile. 

“You’re a good friend, Jimmy,” you said eventually, grumbling from the back of your throat with contentment, like a tired dog settling down beside the fire on a cold winter night. “Really, man, you’re a good friend.”

“So are you,” he said softly, smiling kindly. “Can I, uh, can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it,” you shrugged nonchalantly, hoping that he would not see through such a disguise and recognise the fact that you were a little run-down. 

“You and Byers… I, uh, you know, you guys would make a great couple,” he told you, the sudden smell of curious caution about him as he swallowed thickly and shifted where he sat. “Can I ask why you guys aren’t together?”

You sighed, chewing at the inside of your lip as you tried to think of a decent enough answer, but unable to do so, you let out a grumble and shook your head. “Sometimes, Jimmy, people meet at the wrong place and at the wrong time… and sometimes, even though there’s love there… sometimes it’s a luxury you can’t afford.” 

Jimmy didn’t seem to understand, but he couldn’t bring himself to question things any further, opting to, instead, simply listen to you and to make it seem like he understood; although, eventually, he needed to leave, as he really needed the bathroom, so with an awkward dash and a quick goodbye. 

Only a few moments of peace were allowed, though, as just as you were about to light up a cigarette, Scully let herself in, and you knew better than to smoke around her indoors, so you put the unlit cancer stick back into its home in the packet, and you put on a fake smile for her. 

“I’m not here to lecture,” she said softly, taking a seat on the windowsill beside you and placing her hand on your shoulder, offering a kind and caring smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you freely admitted, shrugging. “You’re a medical doctor, Dana… figure it out.”

But Scully only shook her head, sighing a little as she gave your shoulder a little squeeze, her gaze meeting yours as she dared to frown. “You would have to tell me the symptoms you’re having, (y/n).”

“Fuck me, where do I start?” you joked, scratching at the back of your neck as you grinned a little. “It's Byers, he dresses funny, he doesn't listen to metal, he's not even hot... in a conventional way... I mean, he's just like this dog that hangs around from time to time! And he's a hideous dancer, couldn't take him anywhere if I wanted to. Wait a second - what am I stressing about? This is, this is Byers. Okay, okay... so he's kind of a Baldwin. But he... he needs someone with a bit of roughness around the edges, someone to protect him, someone to laugh at his jokes if he ever makes any... and it's not even that, when he gets excited about something, he... he gets this glint in his eyes that's just absolutely beautiful, and when... fuck, when he smiles it's like seeing the moon on a cloudless night, and... and have you ever seen the way he focuses so hard on his work, like... I can't explain it... it's like, when he walks into the room, I know that everything's okay, and when he smiles, my heart races, and... and when I'm with him, there's no one else in the world.”

Scully hummed, looking at you with a raised brow and a slight smirk as she dared to ask, “you love him, don't you?”

You shrugged again, sighing heavily. “Okay, so maybe I love him, maybe I've loved him for a while, but the fuck am I gonna do about it? Tell him?”

She nodded, looking at you with just enough sympathy and judgement. “That's what most people do, yes.”

You let out a bark of laughter, throwing your head back so that a ‘thunk’ came from the glass behind you. “Fuck you. I'd fucking bite my own hand off before I said anything.”

“You’re scared,” she whispered. “I can’t blame you, but… as much as it pains me to say, I can’t actually help you as a doctor.”

“So what do I do?” You melancholically asked. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted, retracting her hand from your shoulder and standing up, clearing her throat as she prepared to leave. “Tell you what, I’m gonna go and grab something to drink, and then we’ll talk this through some more.”

“Alright…” you nodded, running a hand through your hair. You really needed a smoke. “Thanks, Dana.” 

Yves and Reyes and Skinner and your father also visited you that day, one by one they had disrupted the moments of peace that you had managed to steal, but one by one they were all sent off just as unsatisfied and with the same old answers as anybody else - they knew that something was wrong, but they couldn’t bring themselves to take it up with you, they couldn’t bring themselves to try and to scorn you and to be angry. But not everybody would be attending the little party that you had asked Doggett to throw for you, as your father and Skinner had decided on going fishing - thinking that they were too old for such a thing - and Doggett himself had even joined, for the same reasons obviously; but it seemed as if Doggett had almost certainly been listening to Langly, as when you walked into the upstairs lounge at last, you couldn’t help but to laugh. Speakers were set up in the corners of the room, LED lights sparkled on the walls and the ceilings, and they had somehow even managed to have set up a table with various drinks - some of them alcoholic, some of them not - and had dotted various ashtrays around the place. It made you laugh a little as you looked around the room. It seemed it had started without you, as already, Reyes and Scully were deep in conversation over glasses of red wine with Yves, intellectual subjects almost definitely being discussed; the Gunmen, minus Byers, were all spread out on the sofa and arguing about something, except Jimmy, who was just happy to be there as he grinned and drank his beer; Fox was manning the speakers, which you couldn’t say shocked you so much, whereas Byers was waiting for you, ready to hand you an ice cold beer the second you left the room, a small smile on his lips; now that Scully knew about your little secret, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to act around him or what to say to him for fear that someone else would find out. You wanted to be cold and distant from him, you really honestly did want to be cold and to shy away, but all the same, when he reached out for you and when he gently took your hand in his, you couldn’t help but to press yourself into his side, getting a good whiff of his scent; coffee and fresh ink, but hidden behind the cologne that his friends got him for his birthday every year. It made you relax a little more as you brought the cold bottle to your lips and took a long swig. Thankful for the bitter taste and thankful that it washed down the anxiety that had bubbled in your throat. Drowning it. Suffocating it beneath carbonated and liquidised grains. 

“It was a good thing you made Langly go with us,” he muttered to you eventually. “I don’t think it would have turned out this good without them.”

“Johnny, no offense, but you have awful taste when it comes to decorations, and I wouldn’t trust you even if I was paid to,” you remarked, but then you looked at him, and you grinned so terribly fondly that it was like pure sugar. “But you’re smart, and you’re an amazing journalist and you… you’re a good man, which more than makes up for it.”

Byers nodded, returning much the same terrible sugary smile as he dared to hold your gaze. Fuck, you looked so good drenched in the LED lights, a bottle of beer in your hand - fuck, you looked so good and he knew that you weren’t even trying. You looked so good despite the smell of smoke on your clothes and the stains of tears still visible on the lower parts of your eyes. You looked so good because he could never see you as anything but the most handsome man he had ever seen in his entire life. 

“We, uh, we could, uh, we could dance if… if you wanted to,” he suggested softly, shrugging a little although he knew very well that he couldn’t dance, although he knew very well that he wouldn’t be able to impress you or to woo you by trying to do so… but he did have a feeling that it would make you smile, and to Byers, that meant the entire universe and then some. If it made you smile or if it made you laugh, then to Byers, that would make everything worth it and more. That was all he wanted, was to see you smiling, to see you laugh, to know that everything was going to be calm and everything was going to return to normal at some point, to know that you weren’t scared and that you felt safe. That you could relax, if only for a short while, if only for a moment or two. That you would let him and your friends distract you and to hold you and to guide you and to help you. 

“I know you can’t dance,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I don’t want you to think you have to do anything, Johnny, I just…”

“I get it,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I understand, honestly, (y/n), I do, I just… thought you could use a distraction and something to laugh at.”

“I can’t laugh at you,” you muttered. “I wouldn’t… well, I would, but if I can help it, I’m not gonna. I’m not a cunt like that.”

Fuck, Byers wished that you would not swear so much and that you would use cleaner language, but all the same, he couldn’t help but to laugh a little at the remarks; he was glad that you were feeling better, he could put his own feelings aside if he could focus on you and if he could ensure that you felt better and that you could be happy, even temporarily. Even temporarily, he would do anything to ensure that you could smile. ‘Dynamite’ by BTS was playing over the speakers, and you couldn’t help but to hum a little as you started to tap your foot a little, smiling as you took another swig from your beer. But Byers could do nothing but to look at you, a fond smile on his face and his eyes lighting up slightly as he dared to watch the subtle signs of your enjoyment of the song; he really did wish that he could dance, if only so that he could take your hand and could attempt to impress you or make you laugh and smile a little more. Anything for you. Anything at all for you. Fuck, he would have done anything for you. 

“You’re so adorable,” he whispered, thinking that he had not given voice to the words, but when you looked at him, grinning, he could feel the way his features began to heat up with crimson blush, the shade of bloodshed, and he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, unsure of how to cover himself up and how to act as if the words were merely platonic. “I mean, uh, I, I, I didn’t-”

But then you yanked him by his tie so that you could kiss his cheek, and it was then that Byers knew that he was a goner and that he was shattered and broken, it was then that Byers knew that he had broken once and for all and that there was no way he could fix himself; a lovesick and dopey smile on his features as he chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. Good lord, he was so head over heels for you that he had no idea what to do with himself and he had no idea how he was supposed to react to such a thing. He could only stand there grinning as you walked away, as you abandoned him in favour of walking over to Fox.

You nudged your friend, practically smashing his shoulder with your own as you cleared your throat and allowed him to steal your beer for a second as he took a swig before handing it back. 

“You’re vile, mate,” you chuckled, fondly shaking your head. “You’re actually fucking vile.”

“You licked the inside of my mouth more than once,” he pointed out. “I don’t think you can speak.” 

“Good point,” you hummed, nodding. But then you looked over your shoulder, over at Byers, who had decided to sit with the other Gunmen and to get involved in their little dispute, and you sighed. “The fuck am I meant to do, Fox?”

Licking his lips, Fox frowned, running a hand through his hair as he shrugged and swallowed thickly. He leaned forward to rest on one of the speakers, bending over slightly as he clasped his hands together and laced his fingers. “What do you want to do, more importantly?”

“I wanna be with him,” you said quietly. “But how the fuck am I meant to be with him when I know that all I’ve done is put him in danger? How am I meant to be with him when I know that I’m a monster and that someone like me doesn’t get the privilege to love someone like him?”

“You’re not a monster,” Fox replied, “and you didn’t put anyone in danger, (y/n). Nothing that happened has been your fault… you’re just beating yourself up when you don’t have to.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes and shaking your head, daring to finish your beer as ‘If You Have Ghosts’ by Ghost came on, making you want to relax and to dance and to sing, but you couldn’t bring yourself from your own melancholy for the moment. “If you’re so smart, then what do you suggest I do, huh?” 

It took him a moment, thinking of what to say and what possible solutions there could be, but eventually, he came up with something, and he looked at you with a smile, leaning over so that he could place his hands around your ear as he dared to whisper, not wanting anyone else to pick up on what he was saying, “why don’t you ask Byers for a dance? I’ll put on something slow for you, and you can conveniently get close enough to say something to him.”

“Byers doesn’t dance, though,” you pointed out with a raised brow. “And neither do I, for that matter.”

“Make an excuse,” Fox shrugged, licking his lips as he looked around the room. 

Frohike had moved to speak to Reyes over in the corner, Doggett, who had abandoned the fishing trip with your father and Skinner due to wanting to spend some time with everyone else, was being hounded by Jimmy, Scully was talking about something with Langly - knitting, Fox presumed, as he knew that they did have their little club from time to time - very quietly, and Byers seemed to be deep in quite an emotional conversation with Yves, which Fox did guess was probably about you, especially when Yves dared to glance over. 

“Fox-”

“Just do it,” he urged, shaking his head. “What’s the worst that could happen? Seriously.”

You let out a grumble like an old dog, glaring at your best friend for a moment before shaking your head. “I hate you… I’ll do it, but I hate you.” 

You walked over to Byers, clearing your throat as you shifted from foot to foot as ‘Where Do Broken Heart Go’ by Whitney Houston started to play, and when you rubbed the back of your neck, you caught a hint of your own pulse, making you bite at your lip as you stuttered out the question. “Fancy a dance, Johnny?”

Byers, who had not been keen on embarrassing himself at the best of times, practically shot up from his seat as he agreed, quietly and nervously asking if you could lead, thankful when you told him that you would; you pulled him off to the side, letting him rest one hand on your shoulder, the other clasping yours close to his chest as he swallowed thickly. But your hand went to his hip, making him shiver slightly until he blushed deeply and dared to smile. He was unsure of himself, that was true, and although he did fumble a little to begin with, he eventually allowed himself to relax as you gently swayed him from side to side to the music; you looked so handsome, you looked so amazing that he could hardly contain his thoughts. 

_ Where do broken hearts go, can they find their way home? Back to the open arms of a love that's waiting there, and if somebody loves you, won't they always love you? I look in your eyes, and I know that you still care, for me _

But your broken heart had found its home long ago, your broken heart had found its home the second you had met Byers, and although you didn’t want to admit it, everything from his scent to his smile was like home, and no matter how bad things got, you knew that you could always go back to being in his arms when he waited there for you; and although you didn’t want to admit it, you knew that he would always love you, even if you were going to hurt him and even if you were such a terrible monster, he would always love you. He would always look into your eyes with that gleaming care and that blinding softness. You knew that no matter how bad things got, Byers would always be at your side and would always love you. 

The party raged on behind you as you sat on the stairs with Byers, one of his knees was perfectly awfully settled between yours, the other pulled back slightly as he rested his hands between his thighs and as you leaned back with your hands on the cold mahogany wood; the party raged on and it seemed as if no one saw anything and no one noticed that the two of you had stolen away for a private conversation, it seemed as if no one had noticed in the slightest, and you were thankful of that. ‘My Heart Will Go On’ by Celine Dion was playing over the speakers, which you had no doubt was Fox’s doing and that he had probably done it on purpose, but you brushed it off as you looked at Byers with a small smile. 

“Have you ever read Hamlet?” You asked, tugging at his sleeve until he gave you his hands, letting you trace all the marks on his skin and all the little lines on his palms, letting your soft and nearly ghostly touch send shockwaves through his skin. 

“Once or twice,” Byers answered with a shrug, focusing on how your fingertips graced his hands, how you seemed to trace such awfully beautiful patterns into his skin that he knew meant something but could not translate. He watched when you ran three fingers over one of his, from the tip to the knuckle, and he finally met your gaze as he allowed himself to relax a little. “Why?”

“It’s just… there’s this quote from it,” you admitted, running your index finger along his knuckles so softly that it made his skin tickle and made him shiver so delightfully. “Always makes me think of you…”

“What quote is it?” He asked quietly, as if he wanted no one else in the world to hear but you, as if he wished for no one to even be able to try and listen in, as if he was telling his entire world and nothing else. 

“Forty thousand brothers could not with all their quantity of love make up my sum,” you whispered, swallowing thickly as you dared to flash him that smile that made his knees grow weak and as if he was breaking and falling apart. Completely undone by nothing more than a smile.”But there’s another…” 

“There is?” He mused, tilting his head to the side and looking at you so fondly that it was as if he wasn’t even trying to hide it. 

“There is,” you admitted with a soft chuckle and a curt nod. “Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love…” 

When you glanced up at him, Byers knew that he was done for, and when your nervousness kicked in and you went to gently push him and to laugh it off, he took a bold step, and caught your jaw in his hand, pulling you in for a kiss, catching your lips before you dared to pull away. Byers’ face fell for a moment, and he opened his mouth to apologise for doing such an awful thing. But then you cut him off with a smile. And he smiled right back before you leaned in, and with his hand still on the underside of your jaw, you dared to kiss him again, holding onto his shoulders as he dared to place his other hand at the back of your neck. It was sweet, and clumsy, and it was soft and nervous, and although it wasn’t the best kiss you had ever shared with someone, you did have to admit, no other kiss had left your head spinning so much and your heart pounding so furiously and although you wanted to, when you pulled away, you couldn’t stop smiling. Perhaps, Byers thought, dancing with wolves definitely had its good sides. 

“I love you,” he dared to say quietly, looking at you with such adoration in his blue eyes, such nervousness and anxiety in his voice that it was nothing shy of awfully adorable and catastrophically cute. 

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, your breath tangled with his as you swallowed thickly and let out a sigh. “I… I want to be with you, John, I really do… and I’ve thought it through.” 

“You have?” He asked, a little spark of hope in his voice that made you whine softly. 

“I have,” you nodded, still smiling. “I wanna be with you, more than anything, I wanna be with you… and if that… if that’s okay with you, I’d like to, y’know, I’d… you… I wanna try, y’know, us, us being together.” 

Byers could only grin as he nodded, blushing the colour of crimson bloodshed as he let go of your neck and your jaw in order to hold your hands tightly in his own. “I promise… I, I promise, (y/n), I won’t… I won’t let anything happen to you… I won’t… no matter what you do, or what happens, I’ll, I’ll always be here for you, and I’ll always love you.”

“Frohike!” Fox shouted suddenly, making you and Byers both jump and flinch. “Frohike, you owe me twenty!” 

“Did it finally happen?!” Came Frohike’s exclamation, making you and Byers sigh and shake your heads. Of course they put money on it. Of course Fox had to be the one to find out first. 

“Oi!” You barked, looking up at Fox, who was leaning over the side to watch you and Byers below him. “How fucking long have you been stood there?” 

“Oh, doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love,” he mocked with a cheeky grin. 

“I fucking hate you,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes before you looked at Byers, who looked impossibly red and flustered and embarrassed. “Wait here?” 

“Of course,” Byers nodded, letting you leave him. He watched as you bounded over the stairs and grabbed Fox, a little worried about what you were going to do; but Byers knew you wouldn’t hurt Fox, everyone did, which he supposed was why no one batted an eye when you and Fox began to fight playfully - hitting one another with your sleeves and grabbing each other. No one so much as looked, especially not when Byers dared to come back upstairs. 

“Hey, man, congrats,” Frohike slapped his shoulder. “How do you feel?”

“I’d feel better if people hadn’t been watching,” Byers admitted with a shrug. But he guessed he couldn’t exactly say he didn’t expect it, after all, it seemed as if your relationship with him had become more or less entertainment for your friends. 

“I can’t believe you’re finally in a relationship,” Yves commented, although her smile was kind, and while she did try to hide it, the joy in her eyes was clear to see. “Well done, Byers.” 

“T- thanks, Yves,” he choked a little on the words, still more than nervous and more than embarrassed. But he could handle it. 

“Does this mean that we don’t have to put up with your pining anymore?” Langly asked jokingly, although Byers knew all too well that they were happy for him and that they were happy for you, too. 

“I, I guess,” Byers laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Congrats,” was all Doggett had to say, a curt nod and a flash of a smile. 

“Hey, maybe one day, my girlfriend and I can come on a double date with you guys,” Reyes mused, smiling at Byers. 

“I, uh, maybe,” Byers was slowly running out of responses to his friends as he looked over at you and Fox, now wrestling one another on the floor like a couple of overgrown puppies, and he couldn’t help but to smile. 

“As happy as I am for you, we should probably separate those two before they break something,” Scully admitted, looking over at you and your best friend with a roll of her eyes, not believing how childish you could both be. “Or before they hurt themselves.” 

Byers nodded at her before daring to interrupt you and Fox, gently pulling you away from your best friend as she grabbed Fox and did the same; but you let out a protesting bark, trying to wriggle free. 

“John-”

“I know you’re only playing,” he muttered in your ear. “But I don’t think your father would appreciate it if you broke something.” 

You huffed, giving up and nodding, collapsing into Byers with a smile. “Fine.” 

But just as everyone was about to finally settle down, taking their seats on the sofa and on the floor in front of the television to watch a film or two before the night ended; you sat on Byers’ lap and his arms nervously around your middle, your lips on his throat and his face burning with blush; Jimmy finally piped up, having been sent to get ice earlier, he held the cold bucket in his hands and cleared his throat. 

“Uh, guys? Why is (y/n) kissing Byers’ neck? Is everything okay?”


	7. Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Grumbling, you rolled over to your side, facing away from the door as you threw your arm out weakly, searching for something and grabbing at the sofa cushions and fumbling with the thick duvet, but then you felt it. 

Warm skin, making you smile as you dared to coil yourself around him like a snake, sneaking one leg beneath his, the other laying lazily on top, your head on his chest, your arm on his stomach, fingers nearly tracing his hip as you let out another grumble and sighed heavily, your body curled in an almost C-shape. 

You were light headed and dizzy from exhaustion, but that didn't matter when you felt his hand come to rest on your lower back, nothing more than an instinctive reaction, making you shuffle a little closer, stealing his warmth as you dared to close your eyes and to breathe in the scent of coffee and fresh ink. 

It made you smile as you angled your head down a little, enough so so that you could hear the echoes of his heart beneath you, a calming rhythm, like the soft whisper of idle waves against a rock.

"I love you," his heart seemed to sing gently, a broken lullaby and a cursed hallelujah, but one that you would gladly listen to for forever and a day, "really, I do." 

But then Byers dared to move, shifting onto his own side and causing you to whimper slightly as you buried your face against his chest, your legs still tangled with his even though you had to move back onto your side. 

He was sound asleep as he moved his hand to the back of your head, his thumb gently moving up and down and causing you to lean into the touch, his other hand staying at your lower back. 

You dared to allow your arms to sneak around him as you shuffled up enough so that your forehead was against his. 

Lazily, he opened one eye, smiling a little in the darkness before he closed it again and dared to relax into the embrace.

That was how most nights were spent, the threat of the cigarette smoking man seeming so far away and so distant that you and Byers were allowed to revel in your new relationship, given a chance at a small spot of happiness, given a chance at something good and to relax for once; but one evening when the sky was blue but foggy with pale grey clouds, hailstones melting on the ground and a bitingly cold wind outside, things changed. Things changed when, after huddling together upstairs all day, mostly everyone had fallen asleep and was snoring on one another, piled up like puppies without a care, you caught the cigarette smoking son of a bitch sitting on the sofa, ashing his disgusting stale cigarettes on your duvet. It made you snarl and snap your jaws, your eyes flashing a wolfish colour for a moment before Fox and Byers came racing to grab you, Byers holding onto your hand instinctively as Fox took a step in front of you. He was careful as he approached the cigarette smoking man, almost as if he was a wolf stalking a deer, but when he stood in front of the man, he lifted his hand up, and he smacked the cigarette out of his mouth, sending it flying across the room. 

“What do you want?” 

“Mister Mulder,” the cigarette smoking man said coldly, a smile on his cracked and dry lips. “What a surprise to find you here.” 

“How did you find us, you goddamn fucking-” but you were held back by Byers, silenced when he tugged you a little closer to his body, hushing you softly, trying to protect you as best as he could. 

“It was easy,” the cigarette smoking man chuckled. “After your little spat with Krycek, it was easy to track you all down.” 

“John-” 

“It’s okay,” Byers whispered, shaking his head and daring to keep you close, his hand going up and down your back gently as he sucked in a harsh breath, although he did hope that you could not feel the way he was trembling slightly. “I’ve got you, I’m here with you, nothing is going to happen.”

The cigarette smoking man stood up, then, striding over to the stairs, and he smiled oh so coldly, he smiled and smiled and he knew that he was a villain for it. He saw how close you and Byers were, and it seemed to only make him smile more. “Ah, the lovebirds.” 

“You touch him and I’ll fucking rip your neck out,” you snarled, your teeth slightly elongated and your eyes glowing. “You touch him and I’ll-”

“I won’t need to touch him, if you keep yourself clean,” the cigarette smoking man reminded. “If he doesn’t get too close, he won’t be an issue. You would be wise to remember that, Mister (y/l/n).” 

You went to lunge at him, and Byers couldn’t hold you back, and Fox couldn’t reach you in time before you had the cigarette smoking man pinned to the floor, your teeth in his face and your eyes glowing so brightly that they were blinding, your breath heavy as you kept a hold of him by the shoulders. Jaws snapped, and a little bit of your spit landed on the older man’s cheek, but you didn’t care, your voice was nothing more than a series of low growls and snarls as you snapped and snarled. “You fucking leave him alone. I don’t give a shit who you’re working for, or what you wanna keep him away from - you stay the fuck away from him, you goddamn fucking cunt, do you hear me? You stay the _ fuck _ away.” 

The cigarette smoking man laughed, he laughed and he laughed and he laughed until he realised that Fox wasn’t going to pull you away, and that Byers wasn’t either, and that he was truly alone on this one, as besides Krycek, who was still in the hospital, no one knew where he was; the cigarette smoking man’s eyes widened as he looked desperately between Fox and between Byers for help, begging them to pull you away like you were some kind of vicious and rabid and feral attack dog. “Please. Have some manners.” 

“Fuck your manners,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes at him, your shoulders tense. The teeth grew slightly longer, causing something warm and sticky to trickle down to the cigarette smoking man’s face. Drip. Drip. Drip. 

“Mister Mulder, Mister Byers,” he tried to plead, he tried to appeal to decency although he himself had none. “Please, keep your dog on a short lead.” 

But his cries for mercy fell on deaf ears, and although both Byers and Fox didn’t want to leave you for fear of that silver bullet, when you looked back at them and nodded, they knew that they had no choice but to head up the stairs; they heard the body thud onto the ground, a muffled sound that could have been like a shoe being taken off and dumped on the floor, and they heard the sound of something being dragged before the door opened, then slammed shut. And they shared a look, although they made no effort to do anything - they would know if you needed them. 

Before you had started to shift, you had used some old rope from the little box of things your father kept on the dock, and had bound the cigarette smoking man to a tree, not really knowing what you were going to do; but as your grumbles and mumbles became distinctly more doggish, you clutched the side of your head tightly as you wandered out of view of him and of anyone else, wandering off like a dog about to die. You could feel your heart beat quickly, shallowly, against the bones of your ribs. You clutched the sides of your head as you fell to your knees, gripping at your own hair and almost tugging it out as you tried desperately to hold on; a distinct smell and taste of something coppery was in your mouth, and when you curled your tongue to feel it, you could taste how sticky and how sweet it was despite being so metallic. You winced when the elongated tooth caught the underside of your tongue. 

More than anything, your head was hurting, throbbing, sounds were distorted and even the ones up close sounded distant as the warbled noise of something cracking made it to your ears with an echo, causing you to cry out and to whimper and attempt to shy away and to stop it. The head grew larger, wider in shape and rounder. Your jaw was worse, making you smack at the side of your head bluntly as you whimpered and whined and fidgeted as it stung and as pain shot through it, it was longer, and your throat was tighter although your neck was wider, cutting off your cries with ease. The tip of your nose was pulled up, and it shrank into something circular and wet. 

Your back arched, spine coiling. Your knees and your elbows bent, forcing you to walk on all fours. Your fingers snapped and coiled as they broke and as they slowly turned into nothing more than paws with long, sharp claws at the end. Your hips ached, as did your neck and your back, and you wanted nothing more than for it to stop, especially when the fur came through; the fur, shooting up out of your skin like little pins stabbing through fabric; it was thin and coarse to the touch. Your legs were covered in pale yellow-y white, the same as your stomach. Dark grey and black on your head, back, and neck. Reddish brown on the ears and the mouth. Yellow-y white on the inside of your ears. Your shoulder blades popped so that they sat forward more, but they were visible through the thin coat. Dislocation or forced out of their original, natural, position. The tailbone tore through your lower back, opening up a small wound to escape through.You gave yourself a few moments, recollecting yourself, before you trudged, dragging those horrid makeshift paws along the dirt, back over to the cigarette smoking man. 

“I’ve never seen a fully shifted werewolf,” he admitted, looking at you with curiosity, but you could smell the fear on him like rotten meat. “My, my, you are a Hell-hound, aren’t you?”

A snap came from your jaws, spit and a little bit of blood flying in his face as you pinned your ears back and dared to bare those horrid and jagged fangs. 

“You can’t kill me.” He was bargaining, you knew it, you knew he was trying to plead for his own miserable life, but he still flinched when you drew in close enough that your jaws were beside his ear. One move was all it would take. One move and it would all be over. 

But instead, you thought of Byers, and you thought of how he would feel if you did do what you wanted to the most, and you knew that, for him, you couldn’t go through with it - so you circled around, and you bowed down, chewing at the rope until it frayed and snapped. 

With his hands now untied, the cigarette smoking man made a move to get up and to walk away, but he was soon pinned to the tree by a heavy paw, and when you lifted your head up and tilted it back, howling loudly, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut and he winced. He thought he was saved, he thought he had been spared, until Fox Mulder and John Fitzgerald Byers and Walter Skinner came running out of the house, each trying to be faster than the other as they ran down the grounds to stand at your side; they were the only three that had been awakened by the terrible howl. You were glad. Easily, you stood at Fox’s hip, although even the cigarette smoking man could see that, from your nose to your tail, you were as long as he was tall. There was power behind those jaws, too, and the cigarette smoking man knew it. 

Byers was the one to speak up, though, kneeling down and softly calling your name twice, smiling when you dragged yourself over to him with a huff, sitting down beside him and grumbling, your eyes locked onto the cigarette smoking man. Your ears, had they been pinned upright, would have been right at Byers’ shoulders. The cigarette smoking man knew that he wasn’t going to weasle himself out of this one. 

“Sir, with all due respect, but (y/n) here is my nephew,” Skinner spoke up, looking at you for a second before turning to the older, shocked, man. “And unless if you really wanna piss me off, you and Krycek better stop whatever it is you’re doing, and leave him and Mister Byers alone.” 

“Mister Skinner-” 

A growl and a snap of the jaws, the raising of hackles and the sound of claws scraping against the dirt made the cigarette smoking man shut his mouth. 

“You’re gonna leave them alone,” Fox said, shaking his head. “You son of a bitch, you’re gonna leave them alone!” 

Byers didn’t notice it, he didn’t notice you stand up, he didn’t notice you start to walk over to the cigarette smoking man until it was too late, until your paw was on the man’s shoulder, crushing it; the bone cracking like ice, then trembling like glass, then shattering like china. The cigarette smoking man growled, trying to hide his own agony, but then Fox grabbed the scruff of your neck, and he pulled you back gently, shaking his head at you; he looked at Byers for a second, not particularly wanting to admit that he would have liked to have seen you put the vile man down for good, but knowing that John Fitzgerald ‘Goody-Two-Shoes’ Byers would never agree to such a thing, and neither would the Assistant Director. 

“Sir, if I may,” Byers cleared his throat, letting you lean against him, glowing eyes would bore into his soul if he looked down, if he dared to meet the eyes of a wolf. He took a few steps forward, able to feel your eyes on him as he bent down and snatched the cigarette smoking man’s silver bullet from the inside pocket of his blazer. He tucked it into his own pocket before returning to stand beside you with a slightly smug smile. “Thank you.” 

“I have a job to do,” the cigarette smoking man coughed. 

“One that doesn’t involve (y/n) or John.” Skinner said seriously, frowning. “You’ll leave them alone, or next time…” 

Byers nodded at you, and with great glee at being given permission, you lunged forward, snapping your jaws and snarling, hackles up and lips curled as you spat in the man’s face; but when you went to bite his face, something, someone, grabbed the scruff of your neck, and pulled you away. It made you whine as you did your best to wriggle free, to indulge in the basic instinct of destroying a threat, of removing an enemy from your territory in order to protect your back by any means necessary, twisting and pulling away from whoever’s hand was grabbing the excess skin behind your head - but they didn’t let go. They didn’t let go until the cigarette smoking man stood up and brushed himself off, walking away after agreeing to leave you and Byers alone at last; you were tempted, very tempted, to chase after him and to finish what you had started, but when you saw Byers, your ears flattened, and your tail went between your legs as you whimpered. 

“You should’ve let us kill him,” Fox protested, shaking his head as he looked between Byers and Skinner. “How long has he been covering up the truth about my sister, about Scully’s abduction, about the existence of extraterrestrial life? How can you let him get away with all of this, time and time again?”

You huffed and nodded in agreement. 

“Mulder…” Skinner warned, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“It wasn’t the right thing to do,” Byers said quietly, shaking his head. 

Frustrated, Fox yanked off his tie, and he balled it up in his fist before he threw it as far as he could - when you ran after it, he couldn’t help but to laugh a little. Especially when you brought it back, sat beside him with the dark patterned fabric hanging out of either side of your mouth. It definitely made him laugh when you growled and clamped onto one end when he tried to tug it back, though, initiating a quick game of tug-of-war; the tie ripped in half before a proper winner could be determined, though. 

“Assistant Director Skinner,” Byers turned to him with a frown, speaking quietly. “Is, is he going to, y’know… are we safe, now?”

“Give it a day,” Skinner advised with a hum. “Give it a day, we’ll send people home one by one - starting with Yves and Jimmy.” 

“Then Doggett and Reyes,” Fox added, nodding as he stepped between the two. “If we send those four back today and tomorrow, then it’ll be likely that no one gets hurt and we can all return to normal.”

“Agreed,” Skinner nodded. “Byers, you and (y/n) can go back last, though. We’ll wanna make sure that Mulder and I can guarantee your safety before you go back, is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” Byers nodded. “I mean, uh, yes, Assistant Director Skinner. Perfect, perfectly understood.” 

“Okay, good,” Skinner nodded curtly. “I’ll go let everyone know the plan - Byers, you stick with (y/n) until he shifts back to normal, and for the love of god-”

“Keep him out of sight,” Fox added. “I don’t think now is the best time to explain to people that werewolves are real.”

Byers did as he was told for a while, wandering around with you until the sky was dark as could be, the very shade of black like a bear’s, although instead of a light brown muzzle, the dark grey clouds took over at parts, leaving no room for the stars or for the moon to be seen; the rain was starting to pitter patter already, flooding the grass with kisses of sweet dewdrops, and although he knew that he couldn’t risk Scully seeing you like this, for she would never believe such a thing in her life - she would never believe the existence of werewolves, and if you were honest, you could never say that you blamed her for that. After all, it was quite impossible and improbable and went against everything that science had said and had proven; but as you followed Byers back into the house, you let out a huff, scratching at the side of your head with a wolfish paw. Byers was a little unsure of what to do, normally you wandered off and came back in the early hours of the morning, normally you weren’t at his side until you were back to your old self again, so he was a little unsure of what to do and he didn’t know what the protocol was, but he tried to figure something out; even if that did mean that he had to think on his feet as he turned the television on and leaned back against the soft cushions of the sofa, trying to focus on the screen. Although, when you jumped up on the sofa, getting your mucky and dirty paws all over the fabric, Byers let out a little yelp of surprise; but then you dared to sit on his lap, the front half of your body dangling over the side of the sofa - it was impossibly uncomfortable, and although he wanted to, Byers couldn’t move you, even though you were draped across his arm and squashing it as much as his legs. Bones digging into his muscles. So, as uncomfortable as he was, Byers allowed you to fall asleep like that, trying not to jostle about and to move around too much, his free hand buried in the thin coarse fur on your neck. After a while, though, even Byers couldn’t resist the urge to sleep, sighing softly as he shifted subtly in order to get comfortable, ignoring the protest from his aching bones and his pleading muscles. Sleep came quick, but light. 

“Ah, fuck!” 

Such a terrible and garbled and distorted voice howling made Byers flinch as he looked desperately around the room for you, sighing only when he saw you on the floor beside the sofa, still wolfish in appearance but your voice was a mangled and mangey mix between human and wolf. Acting on pure instinct, Byers collapsed down beside you, cradling your head in his hands as you laid on your side, wriggling and whimpering, one glowing eye meeting his. Pain. So much pain. Anguish. Agony. 

Your head grew smaller, more narrow in shape and not as round, the sound of bone cracking and flesh tearing was enough to make anyone sick, it was enough to make anyone wince and to withdraw away as the horrid flesh wobbled and spasmed as it took on its old shape. Weakly, you tried to lift your hands up to your mouth as your jaw began to change back, making you cry out and causing Byers' breath to hitch with fear as he tried to protect you from yourself, fidgeting and flinching as your jaw became shorter, making pain shoot through the bones as you felt your throat become looser, more human, making your cries louder. 

Your back arched, your spine uncoiling itself and stretching back to what was normal. Your knees shattered and smashed, as did your belows, forcing you to be able to walk upright, bipedal. Your paws made a loud crunching sound as they uncoiled, letting fingers extend from a lump of flesh, blunt nails at the end, no more claws. Your hips ached, as did your neck and your back, and you wanted to make it all stop, you wanted to make it all stop and to be painless, especially when the fur came back in; the fur, retracting itself, making a million if not a billion little slices in your skin as it pulled back beneath the layers of muscle and beneath the layers of flesh and bone to be hidden and to concealed until further notice and leaving a deep itch within your body, infesting your muscles and your blood. Your shoulder blades popped back into place with harsh cracking sounds, making Byers swallow his own vomit as he shook his head and did his best to be brave, to comfort you as best as he could while your body twisted and contorted back to the man he knew, back to the man he loved.

“Hey,” your voice was hoarse and rough, a mere croaking as you looked up at Byers with tear stained eyes. 

“Hey,” he replied softly, letting go of your head in order to help you to sit upright, rubbing your back gently, knowing that the feeling of skin on skin would help you to come back to your senses. “Hey, just… just relax, Rin Tin Tin, okay? You’re safe. I, I’m here.”

“T- thanks for…” you let out a dry cough, as if your lungs had shrunk ten sizes. “Thanks for not freaking the fuck out just then…”

“I would never,” Byers told you quietly, shaking his head as he dared to give you a flash of that smile. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“Tired,” you wheezed, nodding. Fuck, you looked just about as weak as you sounded, and although he didn’t want to admit it, Byers could tell that you were struggling to stay awake - clearly, shifting back took a lot of energy out of you, and made you weak. Vulnerable. Exhausted. 

“Come on,” he whispered, standing up and carefully helping you up, letting you clutch onto his arm as he guided you over to the sofa. He wasn’t usually one to do such a thing, but he took off his tie and his blazer, setting them aside before unbuttoning his shirt and pressing it into your hands with a soft smile. “You looked cold… put it on, and, uh, I’ll see if I can find us an extra blanket, okay?”

“Sure,” you whispered hoarsely. “Okay.”

You seemed to be back to normal in the morning, which wasn’t something that Byers had expected, although he couldn’t deny that he was happy about it - seeing you in such anguish and agony, seeing you in such hurt and such pain had broken his heart, as he knew that he couldn’t help you. But even still, in the morning, when you were wearing just his shirt, unbuttoned and leaving mostly everything for show, Byers couldn’t help but to smile at the sight - you looked just fine, now, other than the scars left behind from Krycek’s silver bladed knife, which still haunted your skin, and he saw the despair and the shame in your eyes every time you caught a glimpse of the smooth and discoloured skin. But your eyes were bright, and you were moving around just fine, and it was that that Byers couldn’t help but to smile at, knowing that nothing was wrong and that pain was just temporary. But then you wandered into the bathroom with his shirt after grabbing a pair of jogging bottoms, and after a few moments, he heard you calling his name. 

“Could you give me a hand?” You asked, locking eyes with him through the reflection in the mirror. “I can’t do the fucking buttons.” 

Byers didn’t say anything, coming so close to you as he pressed his chest against your back, his hands snaking around your body until they reached the buttons of the shirt, gently and slowly pulling them into place. 

“How are you feeling?” He was so close that he couldn’t help but to whisper, looking into your eyes through the mirror, letting his hands work mindlessly on getting those pesky buttons done up. 

“Sorry,” you admitted with a bitter chuckle. “Fucking sorry that you had to see that, I- I don’t… don’t like people seeing it.” 

“I understand,” Byers admitted with a nod, his normally bright blue eyes dulling with a sparkle of sadness. “I… I wasn’t scared, you know…” 

“People usually are,” you whispered, shaking your head and letting out a harsh sigh. “When they… when they see that, it’s…” 

“I know,” he could guess what you were thinking, which was probably why he leaned his head to the side, pressing his temple against yours as he dared to smile a little. “I tried to help… to make, to make it easier, but-” 

“I know,” you muttered, closing your eyes, your breath hitching when his fingertips graced your stomach. “John, I… I trust you enough that… that I wasn’t scared of you… of you leaving me when you saw it.” 

“(y/n), you, you don’t have to be scared of me ever leaving,” Byers refuted with a gentle and quiet voice. “I love you. Today, every day.” 

“I love you, too.” you replied with a smile, relaxing against him for a moment as he got the last few buttons done up, sheepish and ginger as he kissed the side of your head upon pulling away. He let his hand linger on you for a moment, gently tracing your hip as he turned to leave and to allow you to get yourself washed and brush your teeth, but he still couldn’t help but to smile a little to himself. 

“Hey, Byers,” Jimmy greeted with a beaming smile as he sat down beside his friend at the breakfast bar. “Skinner said me and Yves are allowed to go home, isn’t that great?”

“Wonderful news, Jimmy,” Byers replied with a curt nod, doing his best not to look at you as you busied yourself with making coffee. Fuck, you were so handsome. Fuck, Byers wanted to tell you so badly but couldn’t find it in himself to distract you, as you looked so terribly focused that he couldn’t bring himself to disrupt that.

“That’ll mean that we can all go home!” Jimmy seemed so excited, bless him, and while Byers should have been happy for the fact that Jimmy and Yves’ departure from the cabin meant the first step to going home and hopefully going back to normal again, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, he couldn’t help but to think that the greatest love of all was happening to him, he couldn’t help but to think about how he would have loved to have spent the rest of his life with you. Jimmy nudged him with his elbow. “You okay, buddy?”

Byers nodded, humming softly, nearly grinning when you lit up a cigarette, leaning coolly against the counter with a mug of coffee in your other hand, your earphones were in, and oh so faintly, Byers could hear the harsh and heavy music coming from them; you wouldn’t hear a damn thing, and as Byers sighed dreamily, resting his chin on his hand, he tilted his head a little. “I think I should start thinking about my future, Jimmy.” 

Not getting what had Byers in such a mood, Jimmy furrowed his brows, looking at his friend with a slight frown as he tried to think about what on earth and what in the world Byers was talking about, but tried as he did, Jimmy could think of nothing. “Huh?”

But then you looked at Byers, sensing his gaze, you grinned at him for a second and shot him a wink, causing him to stumble a little and to become slightly flustered, blushing a little as he dared to smile back. “Yeah, I, uh... I think I'm looking at mine, right now.”

It was then that it clicked for Jimmy, who looked between you and Byers for a moment, smiling, but when you wandered off to go sit outside in the cold and the wind to get some fresh air, he raised a brow at his friend. “Oh, you’re thinking about… about being with (y/n), like, as, as husbands.” 

“Yes, Jimmy, I am,” Byers sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s early to think about it, but… maybe one day, I might.” 

“Can I be your best man?” Jimmy asked genuinely, although he was grinning from ear to ear. The mere thought of one day attending the (y/l/n)-Byers wedding was something that he had to admit did make him a little excited; to see two of his friends get married made him practically shake with excitement and giddiness. Even if he would have to wait years to attend such an event. 

“I’ll think about it,” Byers said, swallowing thickly as he thought about how the one thing that could kill you, the silver bullet, was still tucked inside of his blazer pocket. He wanted to destroy it, if he was honest, it would have been better off destroyed, but he was not exactly sure on how one was supposed to go about such a thing. “I need to get rid of that bullet…” 

“Huh?” Jimmy looked at Byers with a gawk, confused and curious all at once as he tilted his head to the side and frowned. 

“The bullet, Jimmy,” Byers explained, going and grabbing his jacket before tugging the small bullet out of the inside pocket, it felt heavy in his hand as he brought it over, placing it on the breakfast bar with a frown. Just looking at it made him feel sick. “The cigarette smoking man used it to threaten (y/n)... we need to get rid of it. I don’t want it around (y/n), not when… not when it was used to threaten him… it’s dangerous.” 

“What’s dangerous?” You asked as you stepped back inside, placing your empty cup in the sink before coming to stand opposite them, laying your hands on the breakfast bar for a second. But when you saw the bullet, you snarled a little, and your eyes flashed with a glowing fear that was hard to miss. “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s the bullet,” Byers admitted with a sigh. “I took it off of the cigarette smoking man, but… we need to destroy it. Once and for all.”

“Keep it,” you said hoarsely, your voice leaving you for a second. “We… put it in a case, John, and… keep it, for emergencies.” 

“But, Rin Tin Tin-”

“John,” you shook your head, looking at the bullet and knowing exactly what it could do. Perhaps it would be better if it was in safe hands. “I can… I can live with it if you have it. If you kept it safe.”

Although he didn’t particularly agree to such a thing, although he wanted the bullet to be destroyed, Byers nodded, accepting and respecting your wishes as he dared to tuck the bullet back into his pocket. “For the record, I don’t agree with this.”

“I know,” you smiled at him at last, and he could see that the fear had died out from behind your eyes. “I know you don’t, but… it’s for the best. After all, what do you do when a dog goes rabid? You shoot it right between the eyes.”

“But you won’t,” Byers pleaded, shaking his head. “(y/n), we can… we can find a way around your shifts, you… there’s no risk of you going rabid or losing control.”

“There’s always a risk,” you said hollowly. “Just… keep it, John, please?”

“Fine,” he conceded, retracting and withdrawing any form of argument that he had left in his bones, giving in to your wishes and wanting to respect them as best as he could. “I’ll put it in a wooden box, and it can stay at the office.”

“No!” You snapped, shaking your head. “No, if, if it’s there, then it can slip into the wrong hands.”

“You could put it on a necklace,” Jimmy suggested with a shrug. “I mean, at least that way, Byers wouldn’t have to carry around a bullet in a box, right?”

“Now, that,” you chuckled, nodding, having to admit that you were actually quite impressed. “Is kinda brilliant, Jimmy… you wouldn’t even have to wear it, John, you could put it in your wallet like I do with my alligator tooth.”

Although he wanted to argue against it and to argue in favour of destroying it like the One Ring, Byers knew that he was outvoted and he genuinely did want to respect your decisions, so he nodded, licking his lips as he sucked in a harsh breath. He pulled out his wallet, which except for his business cards and his press pass and his other forms of ID, was empty; he slipped the bullet into the part that was usually reserved for coins, and zipped it up before stuffing his wallet back into his pocket with a frown. “There.”

“Alright,” you grinned, nodding. “Now that’s out of the fucking question at last… Jimmy, my lad, you all packed up? Got your shit together?”

“Yeah, I do,” he smiled, nodding. “Yves does, too, we’re just waiting for Skinner to say, really… but I’m gonna miss you guys while we’re at home.”

“We’ll miss you, too,” you said kindly, offering a sympathetic smile. “But it shouldn’t be long before we’re all together again - Doggett and Reyes are going home tomorrow, then Langly and Frohike, then Scully and Mulder, then Skinner, then us.”

“We’ll be home in a week,” Byers clarified. “All of us, we’ll all be home by next week.”

“And we’ll be in touch, anyway,” you promised, although you knew that you couldn’t make such a promise a reality, which was probably why Byers glared at you pleadingly. 

“Well, if it isn’t two fools and the only smart one here,” Yves teased as she walked up to the three of you, she stopped beside Jimmy, and looked at you with a small smile. “How are you feeling, Wolf-Man?”

“I’m fine,” you told her, daring to return the smile as you nodded curtly. “Coffee?”

“We better not,” Yves declined, shaking her head. “Skinner just told me that me and Jimmy can go whenever. And it would be best to get back sooner rather than later.”

“Yves, before you go,” Byers shot up out of his seat, clearing his throat as he caught her dark brown eyes with his own gaze. “Can, uh, can we talk?”

“Of course,” she agreed, shrugging as she followed him outside. Leaving you and Jimmy alone wasn’t exactly a concern as they began to trudge through the grass, wet with dew drops that smelled so sweet. “What’s wrong, Byers?”

“I’m worried about (y/n),” Byers admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he let his gaze fall to the ground, the pale green grass that was littered with little droplets of rain that clung to the blades with a tight hug. “I’m worried, if, if we go back then it would put him in the exact same spot we left in and I… I don’t want that, he doesn’t deserve that, Yves, he-”

“Byers,” Yves tutted, chuckling fondly as she laid her hand on his shoulder, making him stop in his tracks as she offered a sweet smile, a platonic love concealed behind the hickory of her eyes. “I understand your concern for your boyfriend, I really do, but… well, Skinner  _ is  _ his uncle, and I think we should trust him when it comes to making sure that his nephew’s safe, don’t you?”

“Trusting Skinner isn’t the problem,” Byers admitted with a melancholic and woeful sigh. “I know he would do anything to keep his nephew safe, but… what if  _ we  _ can’t keep (y/n) safe, Yves? What do we do then?” 

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it,” she told him sternly. “Until then, we carry on, alright? Because I can assure you, between those four FBI agents, and you and the boys, as well as Skinner and (y/n)’s father, I can assure you that he’s going to be very much safe, alright?”

Although she wouldn’t admit it, Yves very much counted herself within the group of keeping you safe, as although she would never admit it to another soul, even for all the money in the world and even for her own life, Yves cared about you as much as she did the Gunmen, she cared about you as deeply as one friend could care for another, and even for Yves, that kind of love was unshakeable. 

“I’m not strong enough to protect him,” Byers confessed, kicking at tufts of grass as he sighed so heavily and shook his head. “If, if someone tried to hurt him while, while we were together, I wouldn’t… I couldn’t… I wouldn’t be able to protect him.” 

“(y/n)’s a big boy, Byers,” Yves sighed, offering Byers a tight-lipped smile, trying not to show her own concern and her own worry. “He doesn’t need you to protect him - we’ll all chip in to make sure he’s safe, but at the same time, you know as well as I do that he is perfectly capable of standing up for himself and for fighting for himself, alright? You don’t need to worry about making sure that he’s protected. You need to worry about being a good boyfriend to him, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Byers nodded, daring to smile a little as he pulled away from her, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he looked at you through the glass door, watching as you talked with Jimmy about something, he could only guess it was probably television or film, but he didn’t mind. “He’s amazing…”

“Yes, he is,” Yves agreed, standing beside Byers with a knowing smile. She wouldn’t admit it, not even if she was ripped open, but she was glad that her friend had found someone to love, and she was glad that it was someone else that she considered a friend, too. She was happy that Byers was happy, but she was also happy that you were happy. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

“I would be a fool not to,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s handsome, he’s funny, he’s smart, he… he’s everything, Yves… when he walks into a room, everything becomes calm, and when he holds me close, my heart skips a beat and when… good grief, when I see his smile it’s the most beautiful thing in the world… good lord, I would be a fool not to love him.”

“And yet it took you both all this time to finally admit that you felt the same way,” she teased, fondly shaking her head. “At least now we don’t have to put up with you pining for one another all the time.” 

“Thanks, Yves,” he hummed, opening the door for her and allowing her to go inside before he did. He stood beside you, letting you sneak your hand into his pocket as you leaned into his side. 

“We should get going, Jimmy,” Yves said, offering a quick look at Byers, which he knew was her way of telling him that she believed in him and that she had confidence in him and that she was happy for him. “We don’t want to get caught in traffic.” 

“Right, yeah, no,” Jimmy nodded, standing up and offering you and Byers a little wave as he dared to smile a little. “We’ll see you guys in a week, right?”

“One week,” you nodded. “But we’ll be in touch regardless, don’t worry.” 

“We’ll see you soon!” Byers called out, letting them leave. But then he turned to you, and he flashed you those awful and horrible blue puppy-dog eyes. “Why did you tell him that we’d be in touch? You know Skinner said-”

“I know what my uncle said,” you shrugged. “It just seemed like something he needed to hear, was all. Sometimes, Johnny, you have to lie to people to make them feel okay for a stretch.” 

Byers knew you were right, which was the problem, he knew that you were right and he knew that one little lie had been needed in that moment, so he didn’t dare to dispute it, he didn’t dare to refute it as he brought you in close, pressing his face against the side of your neck as you hummed lowly and held him tightly. 

“Y’know, normally, this has always been the other way around,” you joked softly, not daring to make a move to even move your arms a little, too comfortable in the embrace for your own good. “It’s weird, in a good way.”

“I’m sorry I nearly snapped at you earlier,” he mumbled, his voice sending shockwaves down your back and your neck from the vibrations, causing you to shiver as you smiled. 

“You don’t need to apologise for anything,” you whispered back. “People disagree, it’s not the end of the world… just because I think you’re wrong doesn’t mean, not now and not ever, that I love you any less.”

Without Jimmy and Yves, things ran a little more rocky for the remainder of the day, as no one was sure what to do, which was fine by you, as it gave you an excuse to annoy Fox and your father in order to show off; while everyone was gathered upstairs to watch the television, you and Fox were play fighting behind the sofa, grunts and growls so loud that they did cause Byers and Scully to turn around. It seemed like a game of who could pin the other to the floor for the longest, and judging by what they saw, you were winning. With a heavy thud, you pinned Fox onto his back, your hands on his shoulders as you grinned down at him, tilting your head to the side slightly as you chuckled. 

“Give in yet?”

“Oh, you wish,” he chuckled, doing his best to wriggle free, but you had him square on the floor, and when he tried to move his legs, you straddled him, well and truly overpowering him easily. Fox knew that there was no way out of it, that there was no way he could possibly free himself from your grip and that the game, no matter how fun it had been, was over. “Get off of me, you overgrown German Shepherd.” 

You laughed along with him as you pulled yourself away and stood up, offering him your hand and yanking him to his feet easily, if you had shifted and had your tail, there was no doubt that it would have been wagging as you shook your head at Fox, daring to ruffle his hair. 

“Don’t worry, Foxy, one day you’ll be big and strong and the nasty wolf won’t pick on you.” 

Scully didn’t bat an eye at the comments about dogs and wolves, chalking it up to being an inside joke between you and Fox and not particularly wanting to know what it was about - after all, she knew that you and Fox had been friends for a long long time, and she didn’t mind being left out of your little jokes at one another. She actually thought it was quite endearing that Fox had found someone to play with, literally, and that he had a friend so close. She loved that for him. And she loved it for you, too, as although she could never guess what the meaning behind certain jokes were, she loved to see you let yourself go and to be a little more playful and relax. 

“You’re just an overgrown lap dog,” Fox chuckled, slapping your shoulder before shaking his head and daring to go back to his seat beside Scully. “And you know it.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you laughed, easily clambering over the back of the sofa and landing in Byers’ lap, making him flinch and go wide eyed and yelp. “You don’t think I’m an overgrown lap dog, do you?”

“Of course not,” Byers shook his head, nervously and sheepishly and gingerly wrapping his arms around you, keeping you still and steady on his lap, he could have sworn that he could hear your heart beating inside of your chest, but he tried not to think too much about it. “Have you calmed down, now, though?”

“Not really,” you grinned, shaking your head. “But you know me, I always play nice, don’t I?”

Something about the way you had said that, something about the little growl in your voice and the way you were grinning, that beaming awfully handsome grin, something about the way you shifted to snuggle into him that little bit more, practically grinding on his lap for a moment as you got yourself comfortable; Byers knew that he was going to struggle to remain a gentleman, forcing himself to swallow thickly as he did his best not to think about how there was definitely something in your voice that he liked and something that absolutely made his curiosity eat away at him - he couldn't help but to clear his throat and to try and act nonchalant despite the thoughts running through his head that caused his heart to thunder in his chest.

“I bet you wouldn’t want Byers to play nice, though,” Langly teased with a soft chuckle, but when Skinner and your father and Doggett and Scully and Byers all glared at them, they knew better than to make another comment about it - even if it did make Fox laugh, and even if it did make Frohike laugh, and even if it did make you clear your throat and shift about on Byers’ lap as if they had been mostly, if not partly, correct in their teasing. 

“Hey, Langly?” You hummed, glaring down at them as they looked up at you from their place on the floor, sat between Byers’ and Scully’s legs. “Go fuck yourself.”

Doggett and Reyes were gone in the morning, having not had the strength to be able to say goodbye to everyone just yet, as they knew that it wouldn’t be too long until everyone was together again, which you supposed was fine; after all, the days were dwindling until you and Byers could go home, having to wait for everyone else to go first in order to make sure that the coast was clear. You quite enjoyed it, actually, the excitement of going home again, the excitement of being in your own bed and… but alone. You would have to sleep alone every night, as Byers would no doubt be able to travel back and forth between the Gunmen’s office and your place, and although you couldn’t blame him for that, you did have to admit that you would miss sleeping with him; even if for the past while, you had been sharing a sofa and had spent most nights quite cramped and squashed together, you had enjoyed sleeping with him, being held by him, stealing his warmth and reveling in it. Waking up to seeing his smile every morning. Fuck, you were going to miss that. Nights were, without a doubt, going to be cold and lonely without him, and although you knew that with his smarts and his intelligence, he could probably work out a way to see you during the nights - whether that meant weekend stays or just once a week - you still couldn’t deny that you were going to miss spending so much time together. But then again, you were going to miss everything about the cabin, from being able to play-fight with Fox to waste a few minutes and to show off to Byers, being able to spend time with your father and your uncle and the people you considered friends and family, you were going to miss all of that when they went back to work and when you went home - it was going to be a weird time to adjust to being alone and not stuck in what was basically the best quarantine you had been through. You were going to miss the cabin, and you were going to miss spending time with the people you loved, and you were going to miss the nights as much as the days that were spent watching the most controversial horror films of all time, you were going to miss pretty much everything, and although you were incredibly excited to go home and to sleep in your own bed and not have to worry about the cigarette smoking man, you couldn’t deny that there was a bittersweetness about the whole ordeal. 

Screams came from the screen as a sweet melody played over it, making you hum softly as you looked at Byers, who looked positively disgusted with what you had made him watch. 

“It’s good, innit?”

“It was, uh…” he dared to smile uneasily. “Graphic.”

“Says the man that watched Cannibal Holocaust,” you teased, pressing the top of your head to his chin and smiling. “Y’know, we only have a few days until we’re back home…”

“It’s going to be a weird time,” Byers agreed softly, placing a hand at the back of your neck and gently letting his thumb ghost up and down your skin, causing you to grumble and to press yourself further into him. “What are you thinking, Rin Tin Tin?”

“I hate sleeping alone,” you said quietly, nearly whispering. “I don’t… is it selfish that I wanna stay just because it’s… it’s been nice to see everyone and to spend time together and… and I feel like it’s gonna be really fucking lonely and really fucking cold in my own bed.”

“You won’t be alone,” he said softly, shaking his head. “You know, you could… you could always move into the office, I mean, there’s not much space and we don’t… we don’t have a, a lot of stuff, but… but it would mean that you don’t have to be alone.”

“But what about the guys?” You asked softly. “I mean, have you asked Frohike? Langly? Jimmy? The fucking landlord?”

“We, uh, it’s something we’ve, we’ve talked about before,” Byers admitted with a nervous chuckle. “I, I mean, before… before… we, uh, before we got together… it was suggested that you could move in with us.”

You pulled away enough to look into his eyes, tilting your head and raising a brow as you dared to smile. “Oh, really? And why was that?”

“We thought maybe it would be easier,” he admitted quietly. “If, if you stayed with us because, when you shift, you would have someone to comfort you and to make sure you weren’t hurt by anyone… we thought it would just be easier, but we never brought it up with you.”

“And why’s that?” You questioned, placing your hand on his shoulder gently, tenderly pinning him to the sofa. 

Laying his hand on yours, Byers dared to smile sadly. “Because we know that you get tired, and you get wary, and you get achy and you… we know that you struggle sometimes, and we just… we didn’t want you to be alone.”

“That’s actually really fucking sweet of you,” you admitted with a soft chuckle, daring to press a kiss to his cheek before you dared away to grab a cigarette. But while you were just about to spark one up, Byers came to stand beside you, wincing a little at the smell of burning tobacco when the flame licked at the plant wrapped in paper. You smiled over at him, nodding. “Maybe… maybe it’s something we could consider. I mean, I don’t… I don’t see why it wouldn’t work from my end, but you guys would need to figure out if you can squish an extra motherfucker into that office.”

When the time came to say goodbye to Langly and to Frohike, the subject of you moving in with the Gunmen wasn’t discussed at all, as you had both decided to keep it quiet for the time being, preferring to wait until everyone was together again in order to negotiate what would happen and when and where - after all, it wasn’t down to you, it wasn’t your choice to make about whether or not you were allowed into their office to live there, it was down to them, and it was their choice. But no matter what they said, you would love the four of them regardless, you would love them just as much if they said no as if they said yes. That wouldn’t change. But even still, you and Byers had decided to leave that subject out for the time being, instead counting the days down and even the possible hours until you could both head home. 

When Scully and Fox had left the following day, you couldn’t deny that there was a nervousness excitement in your bones, a calling for you to run around and howl that was hidden deep within your bones and was squashing the fire in your soul; when Scully and Fox left, though, the goodbyes were emotional despite every party knowing that it wouldn’t be long, a few days at most, until you were all together again - but perhaps being trapped on the grounds of the cabin had made you all a little unused to having your own time and being away from one another, living alone and living apart. They were hesitant to leave, not particularly enjoying the idea of leaving you and Skinner and Byers and your father alone for fear that the cigarette smoking man would come back and strike while the four of you had little to no protection; Fox, especially, was a little bit cautious about such a thing happening, chewing at the inside of his lip so much that it was mangled and raw, smooth to the touch when he licked it, stinging when he bit at it again. Yes, indeed, Fox was quite nervous to leave the four of you alone with so little protection and no means of contacting the outside world just yet - he knew that it was the perfect time for Krycek or for the cigarette smoking man to deliver one last fatal blow. But as much as he tried to ignore it, he couldn’t bring himself to be happy about going home to his own sofa and to his own flat and to his own space. He had enjoyed being at the cabin almost as much as you had, he had enjoyed not being called Spooky Mulder day in and day out, he had enjoyed not feeling disrespected and outcasted by those around him all the time - he enjoyed being able to let go, and he knew that Scully did, too. 

But the goodbyes had been emotional, and the fact that there were only four people left in the cabin didn't sit right with you - it had always been a place of merriment, and now it felt more like a place to sit around and to count down the hours until you could go home at last. 

When Skinner left, it seemed like the final nail in the coffin, and as much as you wanted to, you could never deny that you were feeling more nervous than excited about going back home; you didn’t tell anyone about it, putting it down to a form of cabin fever, although when the call came and Skinner told you that everything checked out and that everything seemed fine and there were no threats to you or to Byers, you were hesitant to leave. 

“Dad?” You frowned as you sat down beside your father in his room. 

“What’s wrong?” He could smell worry on you before you had even walked into the room, and already his eyes were glowing slightly, ready to defend his pack. 

“I don’t… is it bad I don’t wanna go home?” You asked with a breaking voice, letting your father wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull you close to his side, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as he frowned. 

“Why don’t you wanna go home, pup?” He asked softly. “Is something going on between you and your husband?”

“No!” You yelped, shaking your head. “No, I just… fucking Hell, I don’t… all this time, I haven’t slept alone once, I’ve had John there, but…”

“But now you have to go home to a cold and lonely bed,” your father nodded as if he had been there before, as if he had been in a similar if not exact same situation once or twice in his life. “Well, think of it this way, pup - when you go home, and when you’re away from him, when you see him again, it’ll mean that much more… and who knows? Maybe one day, you two could finally live together, permanently. Wouldn’t that be fucking amazing, huh? You just… you need to hang in there, pup, you need to hang on and save your kisses for him and make every single moment count - even if you count the seconds until you see him again.”

“I don’t fucking know anymore,” you sniffled, letting a few warm tears drip down your face, causing your father to rub your arm gently as he frowned and shook his head. 

“Nobody knows anything, pup,” he tried to reassure. “Attachment… it can get difficult for us, especially if you’ve spent so long with him in one place, it’s okay to think that you’ll miss him, pup. It’s not the end of the world just because you won’t be glued to one another’s sides.”

“Promise?” You let out a hiccup that burned your chest and your throat. 

“I promise,” your father nodded. “Now, go on, run along home, leave the old wolf to sort out everything here - you just focus on getting home with that nice husband of yours, okay?”

“Okay,” you chuckled, pulling away. “I love you, Dad.”

“I know, son,” he smiled back. “I love you, too. You’re a good kid, and so is that John of yours… now go, go live your life.”


	8. Puppy Love

Things had been going quite smoothly, if you were honest; with everyone back at home, things seemed just fine, and after a little bit of a debate that was mostly just about what would happen to your flat, the Gunmen had agreed that you could live with him; the transition from your flat to the office wasn’t that hard, and neither was moving most of your things in, and it was mostly just your clothes, as you had very little personal items that you wanted to bring with you instead of giving to your father to have in his cabin. Everything was going quite smoothly, things seemed as if they were finally getting mostly back to normal, as although you still sometimes woke up in a cold sweat and sniffed the air to see if Krycek or the cigarette smoking man were around, as although you still sometimes flinched and growled at shadows that you were certain had been casted by either Krycek or the cigarette smoking man, you were happy to live with the Gunmen; some of the money that you had saved up over time had gone towards their rent and publishing their papers, some of it had also gone towards fuel and food and occasionally treating them to a meal out in a restaurant. Yes, indeed, things seemed to have been going increasingly well for everyone; the nights that you slept soundly in Byers’ arms were a blessing, being able to find solace amongst the aftermath of everything that had happened, you were glad that you had those little moments with him. 

The same as you were glad to have the little moments throughout the day, like sitting on his lap while he was working and snuggling up to him on the sofa whilst watching films or old television shows, you were glad to have the little moments that to anyone else would have been forgotten within days but to you they had meant everything in the world; cooking with Frohike in the afternoons was a highlight of your day, as he had commented that your heightened senses allowed him to make sure that everything tasted right, and you were more than happy to try anything and everything he cooked, as you were pretty sure that he was the best cook in the country; singing along to old punk rock songs with Langly in the mornings to help them to wake up properly had soon become one of your favourite moments of the day, as it gave you an excuse to let out that primal howl that so often built up inside of your chest and remained bottled up there until you shifted, and it helped that they had great taste in music, too; throwing and catching an old rugby ball outside with Jimmy was another part of your day that you looked forward to, as whenever the Gunmen had something serious they needed to do, it gave you and Jimmy an excuse to go out and to play around and to let off some steam and some excess energy in your bones by throwing a ball and catching it, each time getting further and further away from one another; on certain days, you would help Fox with whatever case he needed a wolfish hand with, and you were quite happy to do it, as you were proud to help your friend, to help your packmate, and you knew how much uncovering the truth always had been for him; other days, you would sit with Scully and you would talk with her about more mundane things, like knitting, but you loved to hold the yarn for her as she chatted with you about things like your relationship with Byers and if you had found any new restaurants around town or what you were doing for the weekend, with Scully, things were peaceful, and you loved them that way; occasionally, you would be invited to go and drive around for a few hours with Doggett, and while he was usually quite quiet, you would howl along to the radio with glee and would stick your head out of the window to feel the wind on your face; Reyes would invite you and Byers on double dates with her girlfriend, who was absolutely lovely and charming, which were always something that you looked forward to even when your senses were causing your head to go through turmoil, you always looked forward to seeing Reyes and her girlfriend; whenever she swung by the office, Yves would always make time to have coffee with you in the corner while the Gunmen were bickering, she would always make you laugh and make you feel better and ask if you felt safe. 

Life living at the Gunmen’s office had been nothing utterly extraordinary, all things considered, but you liked it that way, you liked that things were as normal as they could ever be, and more than anything, you loved being surrounded by your loved ones, you loved seeing them more often and making time to do things together. It wasn’t bliss, but you were content. 

For Byers, he was feeling a little different about the situation, as the longer he spent with you, the longer he thought about his white picket fence dream and how much he wanted to have that with you; it was common for him to get lost when thinking about how nice it would have been to be able to wake up in a marital bed with you, the only worry in the world being who would make breakfast and who would make coffee, he thought about how nice it would have been to eat breakfast at the table together while he read the paper and you stole the word search section to scribble the answers down. He thought about the goodbye kisses before he went to work at the office, the ones where you would stop him at the door and tell him he forgot something only to grab him and kiss him and wish him luck. He thought about the hello kisses when he could come home from the office, the ones where he would be the one to pull you close and to kiss you, not daring to say a word until you broke away. He thought about the goodnight kisses when he was in bed with you, rubbing his nose against yours for a moment before stealing a quick kiss as he held you tight and close to his body. He thought about the good morning kisses when he woke up to morning skies and the birds singing in the trees outside and the windows coasted in a light grey condensation, mornings where he was holding you and you were sleeping soundly with him, he thought about good morning kisses where he could wake you up with a soft and slow and somewhat sloppy kiss and tell you he loved you so that it was the very first thing you would hear in the mornings. 

Oh, what Byers would have given to live every morning and every night with you in a suburban paradise. Quite often, he caught himself thinking about what it would have been like to wear a ring on his left hand, a ring that matched yours. Quite often, he caught himself thinking about what it would have been like to refer to you as his husband and to feel his heart swell in his chest when you called him the same. Byers couldn’t help it, always thinking about that idealistic white picket fence - the more time that went on, the more he was quite inclined to save up for a ring, something made out of palladium so that it only looked like silver but wouldn’t scar you or hurt you, and to ask that question. He found himself thinking about it in the worst moments, like when you were groggy and grumbling and sluggish as you pulled yourself out of bed, like when you were drinking coffee and trying to hide the bags beneath your eyes, like when he and his friends were working on an article and they had to interview a married couple that were just sickening with how in love they were. Byers couldn’t shake the thought from his mind, and although he tried to push it away, it always came flying back to the front of his mind. It was getting to the point where he was haunted by the thought of marrying you, but if marriage was the phantom, his opera would continue, and he would be quite happy for it to do so, too. If marriage was the wooden stake, he would have been glad to have been impaled. Byers really did want to marry you, but he wanted to wait for the perfect moment to ask the question, and he knew exactly when it would be; he just needed everyone - Frohike and Langly and Jimmy and Yves and Reyes and Doggett and Scully and Fox and Skinner and your father - to gather in one place and to settle down enough so that he could ask it. 

Byers knew that you hated public proposals and the pressure that they put on the person being asked, which was why he always made himself promise that he would never do that, but you did also say that, if you were ever to get married, you wanted to be asked in front of the people you loved the most and the people that you loved the best, so he needed to make sure that the gathering between you, him, Frohike, Langly, Jimmy, Yves, Reyes, Doggett, Scully, Fox, Skinner and your father had to take place somewhere private - perhaps someone’s flat, although that could have been awkward if he stumbled. Perhaps the office, although that would have been incredibly crowded. Perhaps your father’s cabin, that would have been perfect if he could wrangle everyone together. Maybe if he told them, maybe if Byers explained that the reason why everyone needed to go back to the cabin was because he wanted to propose to you. Maybe he could do it in the car on the way, ensure that it was nice and private and- no, that was an awful idea… but the idea of the cabin was perfect, and Byers knew, then, that he had a plan for how he was going to ask you. But he would wait, he would wait for quite a while to ensure that you wanted it, too, that it was on your mind just as much as it was on his, that you wanted to be his husband as much as he wanted to be your husband and that you wanted to take his last name or that you wanted him to take your last name - he didn’t mind either way, that would be entirely down to you, he wouldn’t say anything on the matter except words of support and affirmation. Because at the end of the day, he would have been over the moon to have married you, he would have been over the moon and amongst the stars if you agreed to let him be your husband and agreed to be his husband, to love and to hold one another until the end, to be together forever and to, if you both saved up enough money, find a little house in the suburbs to make your own and to live out your days, start a family, live in content and bliss and be loved and to love until your dying days. 

Byers could hardly contain his excitement when he thought about it. He could hardly contain how giddy it made him feel to always think about popping that question one day and to drop down to his knee. He couldn’t wait to ask it, but he knew that he would have to, he knew that he would have to wait to ask it even if he didn't want to and even if he was overjoyed at the mere thought of perhaps asking it one day. 

It was a beautiful night when you and Byers were up on the roof of the office, sitting on half-broken deck chairs and drinking piping hot coffee from a flask, a half-eaten bag of tortilla chips and spicy dip sat between you, your eyes were on him as he looked up at the moon, but you soon followed suit, one of your hands clasped in his as you moved your chair over enough to rest your head on his shoulder, smiling a little to yourself as you thought about how much you loved the little moments together and how much you enjoyed the smaller things in life, the finer things; but suddenly, you cleared your throat quietly, and you pulled back, looking at Byers with the fondest of smiles for a second before returning your gaze to the moon and the stars up above. 

“Y’know, this is the second best view I’ve ever had.”

“What’s the first?” Byers asked softly, and when you looked at him, he couldn’t help but to blush a little bit as he flashed you the puppy dog eyes. “R- really?”

“Really,” you nodded, humming lowly as you dared to kiss his cheek sweetly. “I mean, why wouldn’t it be? After all, you're sexy, you make me laugh - at you, of course, not with you."

“You think… you think I’m sexy?” He couldn’t help but to laugh at the thought of you finding him that sort of attraction, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“John Fitzgerald Byers,” you gently nudged him as you raised a brow. “Do you honestly think you don’t drive me up the fucking wall with some of the suits you wear? You. Are. Sexy. Deal with it, motherfucker.”

“Good lord,  _ language _ ,” he pleaded, although by the blush on his features and the way he couldn’t stop smiling, you could tell that he was far from angry at you about your choice of words. “Please, Rin Tin Tin.” 

“Do you not like it when I talk dirty?” You teased with a grin, unable to stop yourself from laughing, nearly falling back in your chair until Byers caught you gently and made sure that you were more than stable and that you weren’t about to hurt yourself. 

Fuck, how you loved those moments, the little ones that meant next to nothing - the nights spent looking at the moon on the roof because Byers was struggling with his work and you knew it would pull him out of whatever blockage that he had; and good lord, how Byers appreciated it, getting to escape with you for a few moments in the dead of night while Jimmy and Langly and Frohike slept peacefully in the building below, not knowing that Byers was blushing and laughing, a little flustered by your comments and definitely not knowing what to say back to you. Your filthy mouth could get you into a lot of trouble, but he wouldn’t change it for the world, no matter how many times he reminded you about it. To Byers, it was endearing, it was part of what made him love you, and although he would never use such language himself or even agree with using it, he still loved you for it. Good lord, he loved you so much. He really did. He loved you so much he could hardly stand it, it wasn’t just a tender curiosity, it was as if something had snuck in and had filled a part of his soul and his heart that had been missing that he didn’t even realise wasn’t there until it was too late - but he wouldn’t complain. He loved it. He loved you, as truly and as madly and as deeply and as soulfully and as whole-heartedly and as amazingly and as purely as gold. He loved you with the strength of a thousand diamonds. He loved you with everything that he had, and the worst part of it was that he knew that you loved him just as much, and that you loved him with all of your strength and all of your might and all of your heart and all of your soul and all of your body and all of your mind, you loved him with everything that you had to give and then some; Byers knew that you loved him as much as he loved you, and while you would treasure the little moments together and would hold them near to your heart, he would do just the same - the little moments were always his favourites, the little moments that he could savour and could look back on that weren’t brought on by some massive event, the little moments of peace and the little moments of being able to just be a couple without a problem or a worry - he loved those moments, and he knew that you did, too, and he knew that he would forever cherish the way you had smiled at him and how you had made him laugh and blush and how you had almost fallen from your chair, and how you had made him roll his eyes when you purposefully asked something stupid while sat together. 

“I love you,” you said suddenly, your tone serious despite your smile. “You realise that, right? I… fuck me, Johnny, I love you so much that sometimes it used to hurt.”

“I know,” Byers practically whispered, unable to keep the smile from his own face as he gave your hand a little squeeze. “I love you, too, (y/n)... I really do, but…”

“But?” You prompted, a little cautious and a little worried if you were honest, you could smell fear on him amongst the coffee and fresh ink smell that had always stained him. 

“But have… have you ever thought about… about getting married?” He asked gently. “Not now, I mean… in the future… would… could you see yourself marrying me one day?”

“I could,” you replied, “I could definitely see myself growing old with you and getting married, John. We might not have a shot at a white picket fence and kids and a house in the suburbs, but… wherever I am, as long as you’re there with me, and as long as you love me as much as I love you… then that’s home. And I don’t really give a shit about some house in the suburbs and a white picket fence - so long as I’m with you, and I’m allowed to love you, I’m content.”

“R- really?” Swallowing thickly, Byers’ eyes went wide as he did his best not to show how he felt his heart swell and cry out in glee at your words, celebrating within its bony cage and setting off confetti in his stomach that made him want to giggle. 

“Really really,” you chuckled, nodding. “I love you, I don’t fucking care what shit-hole we’re in, as long as I got you, and as long as I can love you, that’s enough for me.”

It was around six o’clock in the morning, the air was cold although you were sweating and you felt light-headed thanks to disrupted sleep, having vivid dreams about the cigarette smoking man that made you flinch and jolt upright each time, searching the room with wild and wide eyes as well as sniffing at the air to try and pick up a scent, able to feel the fine hairs at the back of your neck and on your arms and legs stand up on edge like little needles. You decided to leave Byers in bed after around four o’clock, and had decided instead to clean up a little around the office; you took their bins out to the large ones in the alley and you took the recycling out and emptied it into the various green and black bins before smoking a cigarette in the cold, which only furthered your sweating and your light-headedness except you could cope with that. You even had time to shower and to get dressed into a pair of light blue jeans that were almost white but not quite, a baggy black t-shirt and your best pair of whitish-blue Vans trainers, before you decided to get a head start on making your four favourite fools some breakfast; but you were surprised when, lazily, Byers yawned and stretched as he came to sit at the little rickety table, thanking you quietly when you gave him a cup of coffee, even though you were more than sleep deprived, he couldn’t help but to think of how handsome you were, even though you almost certainly looked exhausted beyond belief, he still thought you were the most handsome man to grace the planet. He didn’t even need to ask why you were awake and why you were already starting to make breakfast as well as coffee, he already knew and he already felt terrible about the fact that he couldn’t help and that he couldn’t make the nightmares stop. So, instead, Byers grabbed the nearest newspaper, bringing his foot up to rest on his knee as he opened it and started to read it; his white dressing gown was a little awkward, as it didn’t allow him much room to move around where he had knotted it up so tightly around his waist, but all the same, he wasn’t too keen on his friends seeing him in just his boxers. He was a little amazed that you were already up, dressed, and showered, though, as he had yet to do any of those things, save get out of bed. 

But eventually, you sat down beside him with your own mug of coffee, you had yet to actually start to cook anything for breakfast, but you had everything prepared and ready to go. “I’m sorry…”

Turning the page in his newspaper, Byers looked at you with a pained expression, as if you had just jammed a fork in the back of his hand and pinned it to the table with no way of getting it free without tearing through his skin and his muscle and his fingers. “What for?”

“I left you this morning,” you sighed, heavy and burdensome. “I left you in bed because I…”

“You don’t have to say it,” Byers said softly, shaking his head as he let go of his newspaper in order to hold your hand tightly, shaking his head once more. “I’m not angry, I’m not upset… I promise. I know you get like it sometimes, Rin Tin Tin, and it’s okay.”

“Promise?” You asked weakly, furrowing your brows as you looked at him. 

“I promise,” he nodded, bringing the back of your hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your skin, sweet and sugary, before he turned back to his newspaper. He refused to let go of your hand, and you weren’t about to complain about it, the feeling of his skin on yours was more than welcome and made you settle back into the reality - it made it easier for you to stop cool down and to let go of the light-headedness as you laced your fingers with his and smiled, using your free hand to drink your coffee. 

“Hey, look at this,” he mused, angling the paper so that you could read it. 

“Swans chase police officers into local docks,” you chuckled as you read the headline, looking at the ridiculous picture. “Hey, maybe those swans wanted a bacon sandwich. They didn’t do anything wrong.”

“There’s also one in here about an alligator knocking a police officer out with its tail after they restrained its head,” Byers said with a little bit of a laugh behind the words. 

“They deserved it, though,” you pointed out. “C’mon.”

“More than likely, yes, they did,” he agreed, a little shocked when you rudely rifled through the paper with your free hand and grabbed the word search section and placed it on the table. “You could’ve asked.”

“Bit late, now, innit?” You grinned daftly as you looked at him, your head tilted to the side slightly and a cheeky glint behind your eyes. 

Rolling his eyes, Byers sighed, and allowed you to let go of his hand in favour of doing the word search section, but even still, your leg somehow found its way to his, and you threw it over his thigh as you leaned back in your chair and made quick work of the word search, using the half-empty pen that always sat on the rickety old table as you scribbled the answers and turned it over so that you could do the cross-word section, too; perhaps, Byers thought, this would be the closest he could get to the white picket fence life - but if that was the case, then he would have been happy to live a life of it. If this was as close as he could get, he would cherish and treasure and adore it forever. He would hold the memory close to his heart and would think back on it fondly, like he did the night that you and him were dancing to Sam Cooke songs when Frohike was at the Synagogue and Langly was at a concert and Jimmy had gone out to meet up with his old football team. Byers loved that night. He loved that morning, too, though, and even if you were utterly sleep deprived and a little slower to react than usual, Byers still loved it. Even with the slight blue tint. 

Sneaking in through Skinner’s window again, you took a look around the office, sniffing the air for any sign of stale cigarettes and stale beer, any sign of that cigarette smoking bastard that you had come to be so paranoid about seeing again despite the fact that he had said that he would leave you and Byers alone; but that didn’t stop you from pausing and staring at the door for a moment, the hairs on the back of your neck stood upright as you lips curled - but the only thing that you could smell was the stench of your uncle, which made you sigh with relief as you collapsed into the chair on the other side of his neck with a grumble. It had been a week since your conversation with Byers about marriage, and while you were still somewhat feeling the effects of your sleepless night two days ago, you couldn’t deny that you were groggy as anything and you couldn’t deny that despite all of that, you were still a little bit excited to talk to your uncle about the situation. It didn’t take long until the Assistant Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation walked into the room, sighing as he ran a hand over his head, looking at you with disappointment. 

“You do realise that there is a door outside, don’t you?” He asked, sitting at his desk and taking his glasses off. He rubbed them on his shirt but they still had little spots of dirt on the lenses. 

“I do,” you nodded, lighting up a cigarette and leaning over so that you could pull the ashtray towards yourself. “But that’s not as fun as climbing up the side of the building to get to your office, now, is it? Plus, it’s ballsy as fuck.”

“Ballsy and stupid,” Skinner told you with a shake of his head, he grabbed something from the inside of his pocket that made you perk up a little as you sniffed the air. Coffee cake. But then he placed it into a drawer in his desk, and leaned forward on the desk, placing his forearms on the thick wood and clasping his hands together. “What if you had fallen, (y/n)? What if someone else had walked in? If one of my field agents had come in looking for me and seen you-”

“But they didn’t,” you pointed out with a smile, pointing at him. “Did they?”

Skinner rubbed his temples with his hands, shaking his head and silently cursing you; he had never had this problem with your father, although he did suppose that that was more than likely because your father was older than he was, and he did suppose that your father had matured by the time that they had met and wasn’t still so much like an excitable puppy that yapped and snuck through his office window. Skinner did love you, though, after all, you were his nephew, and he was always looking out for you, but that didn’t stop him from pulling you up on your mistakes and telling you when you were being reckless. He loved you, that was true, but he was still stern and strict, regardless of whether he was your uncle. “That’s not the point, now, is it?” But he sighed, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat as he frowned at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you admitted with a shrug, smiling brightly and with such a daft beaming grin that it definitely made Skinner think that you were absolutely up to something or another. “Last week, me and John had a conversation.”

“Oh no,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Don’t tell me you’re going to go after Krycek, you know that-”

“We’re not going after Krycek,” you cut him off with a wave of your hand, causing the smoke from your cigarette to dance in the air. “No, we, uh, we had a different conversation, Uncle Skinner.”

“Well, you might wanna tell me now because I have a meeting in…” he checked his watch before nodding. “Ten minutes.”

“We might get married one day,” you told him with a giddy and wild look in your eyes. “He hasn’t proposed yet, and we haven’t settled on a date or anything, but… but we spoke about it, and when the time’s right, we’re gonna do it.”

“Well, congratulations to you both,” Skinner smiled, quite proud and more than happy about the news. “But, as my treat and my congratulations to you and Byers, let me buy the engagement rings - I know a guy, he’s used to be an Imam but found out he preferred working in a jewellery shop, but… the rings he does are gorgeous, and I would be more than happy to buy the engagement rings for you and Byers.” 

“Uncle Skinner, I can’t ask you for such a thing,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t be able to pay you back for it.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he admitted. “Think of it as my way of chipping in for the wedding, okay?”

You couldn’t help but to smile, using your free hand to reach across the desk and to grasp his hand, giving it a little squeeze as you tilted your head to the side slightly. “Thank you… you’re the best, you know that, right?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Skinner sighed, but he still dared to smile as he gently squeezed your hand. “But, you’re my nephew, and I want you to be happy, and I want you and Byers to be happy together… now, go on, go back to Byers and go tell him that, when he wants to propose, he should call me and I’ll get the rings.”

“Alright,” you retracted your hand from his, but when you were about to make a move towards the window, Skinner glared at you. “Fine, fine, I’ll use the fucking door.”

“Atta boy.” 

You allowed a couple of weeks to go by without telling Byers anything, as the subject of marriage was not exactly brought up in a way that you could drop it into conversation without drawing too much attention to yourself and to the subject, you didn’t want to kick up a fuss although you couldn’t deny that you were giddy and intoxicated with impossible excitement that bubbled in your veins and made your blood boil brilliantly; you were more than excited and more than ecstatic to share the news and to announce it to your friends, but you waited, lying in wait for Byers to say something so that you could tell him about what your uncle had said he would do. And when the time came, you couldn’t keep the grin from your face. 

“Skinner’s gonna pay for our rings,” you said, stumbling over your words with joy and ecstasy, speaking so quickly that it was as if you were tripping over your own tongue. “It’s gonna be his present to us, a way of chipping in for the wedding.” 

“Oh, good lord, you should have told him not-”

“I tried,” you chuckled, laying your hand on his chest and making his breath hitch as you dared to shake your head. “Trust me, Johnny, I tried, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He wants to pay for them.”

“I don’t think I should argue with the assistant director for the FBI,” Byers chuckled nervously, laying his hand on yours as he dared to smile back. “Especially because he’s your uncle.”

“There we go,” you teased, withdrawing your hand from his chest in order to smooth down the lapels of his blazer gently. “But Skinner said that, when you’re gonna propose, you have to call him up because he’ll grab the rings for you.”

“I can do that,” he said quietly, laying his hands on your hips as he dared to tilt his head slightly to the side, letting the light catch his bright blue eyes and making them seem even more impossibly cyan. “We’d need to find a substitute for silver, though…”

“Well, why don’t you go and see my uncle at some point, and you can both sit down and talk about it?” You suggested with a shrug. “You could go ring shopping together - you know what I like, and Skinner knows my ring size, so you can just… spend a day out, y’know?”

“What about the guys, though?” He frowned, not particularly wanting to leave his friends alone and unsupervised, as he knew what kind of chaos they were able to create with even just five minutes on their own. The incident with the coffee filter papers in the shredder had still not left his memory. 

“Leave ‘em to me, I can make sure they don’t fuck anythnig up,” you reassured, daring to kiss his cheek sweetly. “I love you. I can’t wait to marry you one day.”

“I can’t wait to marry you one day, either,” he admitted softly, pressing his forehead against yours and letting out a little sigh. “Good grief, I can’t wait for the day I get to say I do.”

“You have to propose first,” you pointed out with a soft chuckle. “And you might wanna do it before I do.”

You pressed another kiss to his cheek before pulling away and leaving out of the door, causing Byers, frozen still in place, to call out for you. 

“Hey! Where you goin’?”

Your spirits were more than high when you met up with Fox at the local park, throwing a basketball back and forth on the soft green grass as you dared to talk and to catch up; thankfully, it was his day off, and it gave you some time to actually be a duo again, to be friends without having to worry about some cigarette smoking bastard and his little rat henchmen coming to hurt the people you loved. It was nice to be able to relax with Fox and to talk to him about something other than the darker parts of life and love and the world and the walls you had to climb. Beside Fox was a little speaker with a CD port in it, blasting out ‘Bipolar Rhapsody’ by KID BRUNSWICK among other songs, and every now and then you did admittedly find yourself singing along to the lyrics with a smile despite the dark meaning behind the words; thankfully there weren’t a lot of people at the park, and those that were had been far enough away that they didn’t hear the music, off in the kid’s area with their children. 

“Were you gonna tell me that you and Byers were thinking about getting married, or did I have to find that out from A.D. Skinner?” Fox asked suddenly, catching you off guard and causing the ball to smack you right in the stomach. 

“I was going to tell you at some point, Spooky, yes,” you chuckled, picking up the ball and throwing it back to him with a little more effort, just to get it to smack him in the stomach like it had done to you. “Why, what did Skinner tell you, exactly?”

“He told me that he’s gonna take Friday off to go shopping with Byers,” Fox admitted, playing with the orange and black rubber ball, letting it fall from hand to hand as he tilted his head ever so slightly to the left. “He said he’s gonna pay for the engagement rings, but…”

“But?” You raised a brow, wandering over and taking the ball from his hands, bouncing it on the soft grass before daring to walk around as you did so. 

“Well, don’t you need a best man?” He chuckled, stealing the ball from you and picking up his pace a little bit as he moved away from you. “Every groom needs a best man.”

You raised a brow, easily taking the ball back as you kicked up the pace again, starting to jog around. “And what makes you think I’d choose you?”

“Who else would it be?” He asked, sticking his foot out in front of you so that you stumbled over it and dropped the ball, allowing him to take it. “Frohike? Langly?”

“It might be Doggett for all you know,” you growled, running over to the little speaker so that you could switch the song to one by Sister Rosetta Tharpe, one of your favourite songs by her, ‘Trouble in Mind’. You sat down beside the speaker with crossed legs, letting Fox toss the ball your way and hold it in your lap. “Why would you assume that you would be my only choice for best man, Foxy?”

“I’m your best friend,” he defended, shaking his head, although he knew that you were only teasing him and that you were only playing around, he couldn’t help but to try and argue back. He sat down next to you, laying his hands on the soft grass behind him and stretching out a little, crossing his legs as the ankle. “Why wouldn’t I be your first, and only, choice for best man?”

“Because you’re a wanker,” you laughed, barking out a cry of a giggle when he pushed you gently, shaking his head at you. “Ah, I’m only messing - you know I wouldn’t choose anyone else to be my best man.”

“Not even Doggett?” Fox raised a brow. 

“Not even Doggett,” you shook your head. “You, Fox William Mulder, are my first, and my last, and my only choice for the position of best man… after all, who else is gonna make inappropriate jokes during the speech in front of all the guests?”

“Ask me properly,” he grinned, shaking his head. 

“You’re such a fucking dick,” you grinned back, clearing your throat and moving so that you were on one knee, Fox stood in front of you and holding your hand as he smiled smugly at you. “Fox William Mulder, you are my first, and my last, and my only choice for this… so would you please do me the honour of being the best man at my wedding?”

“Yes, yes, I would,” he giggled, pulling you up but stumbling backwards, causing him to fall on his back with you on top of him, he held you close as he ruffled your hair before pushing you off of his body. “I can’t believe you’re getting married before me… I’m happy for you, though, man - you and Byers, you guys deserve to be happy.”

“Well, maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll be next,” you mused, slapping his chest with the back of your hand lazily. “That is, if you can find someone willing to put up with your annoying ass for long enough.”

“Very funny,” Fox huffed, although he couldn’t shake the smile from his lips as he looked over at you. “Be honest with me, (y/n)... do you think I’m spooky like everyone says?”

“No,” you scoffed, shaking your head. “Not in the slightest… you’re a good man with a good cause, and you’re an amazing friend - you might annoy the living fucking shit out of me and at times you’re a bit of a wanker, but… I love you, man, I honestly love you, and there’s no one else I’d rather be best friends with in the entire world.” 

“Really?” He hummed softly. 

“Really really,” you agreed, stretching as you sat upright and smacked his stomach. “C’mon, let’s go and get out of here before people start to wonder if we’ve gotten lost somewhere or arrested for doing something fucking stupid.”

But once again, things were running smoothly, Skinner had secured the rings - two plain palladium ones with little wolf engravings on the outside of one, and little black bears on the outside of the other - and was keeping them safe until the day when Byers would propose; for weeks, you hung off of the edge of your seat practically constantly, excited to be surprised when Byers would drop to one knee and ask if he could be your husband and if you would be his husband in return. You knew it was coming, but you didn’t know when, and you couldn’t help but to get your hopes up each time he so much as knelt down to tie his shoelace or to get a look at something or to find one of the thousands of files that the were hoarded in the Gunmen’s office. But Byers made no inclination as to when he was going to propose, even when he drove you out to your father’s cabin for a friendly visit nearly three weeks after you had spoken to Fox about the future plans and who was to be your own best man, there was nothing that made you think that he was actually going to ask the question; but even still, on the ride over there in the van, you kept having to mediate and to referee the argument between Frohike and Langly and Jimmy that was happening in the back - the three of them kept arguing about who was going to be Byers’ best man. You kept looking at your fiance, although he wasn’t quite your fiance just yet, grinning and nearly laughing as his three friends bickered in the back. 

"Jimmy, you're a meshugge if you think you'll be the best man,” Frohike sighed, shaking his head as he rubbed his temple in frustration. 

“I think I would be good at it!” Jimmy whined, looking at you with pained eyes. “(Y/N), c’mon, man.” 

“I ain’t getting into this,” you chuckled, your hand drifting to Byers’ thigh and making him look at you with a smile before keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m mostly just here to keep things civil. Hard enough to clean blood from all your equipment, think of the little carpet, it’d be a fucking nightmare and a half.”

“I think you should tell them who you’d prefer,” Byers told you with a soft hum. He could never be expected to choose between his friends like that, he didn’t want to, if he was honest, and if it was going to be an untraditional and unique wedding, then he did have to ask himself if he would have had all three of his friends as his best men - there would be no harm in it, he supposed, although perhaps it wasn’t exactly fair to you. 

“I think all three of you,” you shrugged. “I mean, let’s face the facts, right? You’re all great guys, and you’re all friends and love each other - why shouldn’t all three of you be the best men?”

Stopping at a red light, Byers was thankful that he had time to turn to you, gawking in amused surprise as he allowed one hand to slip from the wheel to meet yours, tangling your fingers with his. “You read my mind.” 

“I did?” You asked, raising a brow and tilting your head. 

“You did,” he nodded, leaning over to sweetly kiss your cheek before getting the van back into gear when the light turned green, chugging along the road with just enough fuel, but it would be a good long while before you reached the cabin, he knew that. “We’re still a couple of hours away, you guys should try to get some sleep.” 

“Oh, absolutely not,” you chuckled, shaking your head as you gave Byers’ hand a little squeeze, just to let him know that you were still there and that you weren’t about to leave him any time soon. “Johnny, no offense, but you’re gonna need to sleep soon, I’ll take over the wheel in about…” you checked the little digital clock on the van’s radio. “Half an hour. You can get some sleep, and I’ll get us there in one piece, yeah?”

“Okay,” he agreed, nodding. 

“If (y/n)’s gonna drive, then that’s even better,” Frohike admitted with a chuckle. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him, raising a brow. 

“No offense Byers, but (y/n) is a much better driver,” he explained, “which is really saying something because Byers is better than most people.” 

“Thank you, Frohike,” Byers muttered, trying to concentrate on the road more than anything. 

“Yeah, well, either way, you three should get some sleep, think about, y’know, if you’re all down for being the best men at a wedding,” you told them, offering a smile before turning back in your seat; you let out a loud and terrible yawn, smacking your lips before fidgeting so that you were snuggled into your seat as best as you could; you had since let go of Byers’ hand, preferring to stuff your hands into the pocket of your hoodie as you rested your temple against the window, grumbling lowly. “You’ll wake me up in half an hour, right?”

“Yeah, of course I will,” he said softly, although he knew that he would break that promise, as no matter how much driving he had done, he wouldn’t allow you to take the wheel, as he knew that you didn’t sleep so well or so much the previous night, and he didn’t mind forgoing a little bit of sleep if it meant that you could try and catch up on your own. After all, you had done it a thousand and one times for him, so why wouldn’t he do the same? More to the point, why shouldn’t he return the favour just this once? 

But after the half an hour had passed, Byers had gotten caught at another red light, and he looked behind him to check on his friends; Frohike was spread out on the floor, Jimmy snuggled into his arms, Langly snuggled into his legs; it made poor Byers smile a little to himself, not remembering the last time they had all looked so peaceful in the back of the van, but then he looked over at you. Your head was tilted back slightly, mouth open and a little bit of drool slipping from the side and down onto your shoulder, making little grunts and growls and groans and grumbles in your sleep as your legs twitched and your arms did, too, although somehow, despite the twitching and the obvious signs of dreaming, your arms remained folded across your chest. Every now and then, your foot would stomp on the floor and make Byers jump a little bit, but he soon relaxed each time upon noticing that it was nothing more than you in your dreams. He was glad that you were able to rest. He was glad that you were able to sleep, and he did his best not to wake you up as he continued to drive.

You couldn’t have said that you were surprised when it turned out that everyone that you loved and that you cared for was at the cabin, you couldn’t have said that you were even the least bit surprised by such a sight, as you did have a feeling that the visit to the cabin was slightly more than what Byers had lead you to believe at first; but your suspicions were confirmed when, during a watch of ‘The Wolf Man’, the old black and white horror film from nineteen forty one, he paused the film, and he cleared his throat, dropping to one knee in front of you with the most nervous yet soft of smiles, a little wooden box in his shaking hands, almost dropping it when he opened it. 

“(Y/n), I, I know we talked about getting married before, and I know we thought we had everything planned out, but… it’s been a while since we last spoke about it, and, and I was, I was just wondering if… well...” he was stuttering and fumbling over his words as he dared to try and steel his anxiety and to make himself seem confident despite the fact that he was anything but. “W- would you do me the absolute honour of, of letting me be your husband?” 

You were a little surprised by his proposal, you had to admit, but you couldn’t help but to grin and to fall to your knees as you repeated the word ‘yes’ a thousand and one times, each time following it with a kiss until Byers had to push you away, rubbing the back of his neck as he blushed a deep shade of crimson and slipped the ring on your finger; it was the perfect fit; and when he brought out the second ring, the one that would go on his finger, you couldn’t help but to laugh and to shake your head so fondly. 

“I love you, so much,” you said between kisses. “John Fitzgerald Byers, I love you so much. Of fucking course I’ll marry you! And, I, for the record, I just wanna say that it’ll be an honour to be your husband.” 

Those that you loved, who had been gathered closely in the room, were all grinning and cheering you both on, howling in celebration and revelling in the fact that you and Byers, at last, were engaged; revelling in the fact that, at last, the question had been popped and had been accepted; Frohike and Langly and Jimmy were the first to line up to say their congratulations, clapping you and Byers on the shoulder and the back as they beamed and admitted how happy they were and how much they were overjoyed at the proposal; Yves and Reyes and Scully were next, hugging you and Byers tightly as they dared to utter a thousand and one congratulations and well wishes; Doggett and Fox and Skinner were after them, joking around and teasing you both whilst offering their own congratulations and their own well wishes and good lucks; then finally, your father, who with a booming voice, declared that a celebration was in order, and that he would treat everyone to a meal at the fanciest restaurant he knew in the morning, as it was far too late for dinner or for tea or even supper, but it wasn’t quite early enough for breakfast, either. The clock struck one o’clock in the morning just as he finished practically squeezing the life out of you and Byers in his own excitement, so giddy and so joyful that his only son, his favourite son, had found someone that made him happy and that he was going to spend the rest of his life with that person. Yes, indeed, your father was ecstatic at the news. 

But it wasn’t long until you and Byers, the newly engaged couple, were given a chance to be alone; a thousand and one kisses were stolen in the dark night, hidden beneath a sheet of shadow, breath tangled and even more theft when you confessed, for the millionth time that moment, that you loved one another so much and that you loved one another so tenderly and so terribly. 

“Mister (y/n) Byers,” you hummed, musing almost to yourself as you laid your hands on his chest and smiled. “Does that sound better or worse than Mister John Fitzgerald (y/l/n), do you think?”

“We, uh, we could double-barrel it,” he suggested quietly, shrugging as he gripped the sides of your shoulders, looking at you with such a tender look that velvet and silk were rendered coarse and rough. “So, uh, it could be Mister (y/n) (y/l/n)-Byers… or Mister John Fitzgerald Byers-(Y/l/n).”

But he had to admit, although he had not thought of it at first, the thought of you having his last name, of you being Mister (y/n) Byers, was almost certainly something that he was more inclined towards; although, even though he was quite fond of that, Byers didn’t particularly care so much that he would argue against anything that you wanted, the surname situation could be left down to you and he would have died an extremely happy man no matter what your surname was and no matter what his own was, as long as you were happy and you loved him just as much as he loved you, as long as you made him happy and he loved you as much as you loved him, Byers could not have cared less about who took whose surname or what the double-barrel was. 

“Mister (y/n) Byers has a nice ring to it,” you admitted, nearly and almost as if it was just a random thought that had come to pass, so casual and cool about it. “I gotta admit that.” 

“We, uh, we can cross that bridge when we get to it,” Byers said softly. “Right?”

“Of course,” you grinned, rubbing your nose against his. “Anything for my darling husband-to-be.”

The weeks following the engagement were fairly chaotic, between trying to find somewhere to actually get married whilst also trying to figure out who would be doing what and where during the ceremony, it was tough, they were hectic weeks but when you sat down with Byers to talk things through, they never actually seemed that bad and like you were just stressing yourself out about it all, which probably explained why Byers ended up dividing the wedding plans and letting Scully and Fox and Doggett and Reyes and Yves and Jimmy and Langly and Frohike and Skinner have a section each to plan - your father was in charge of the budget, as he had insisted that he would pay for everything and wouldn’t hear another word about it, which meant that money wasn’t an issue in the slightest, and things seemed to calm down a little bit, they seemed to finally rest for a little while, a date had even been set thanks to Langly going through computer systems in order to find the best time, and all in fairness, Frohike had found an amazing venue - one of the local museums, which was perfect, as Skinner knew a judge that worked in a nearby courthouse that had agreed to officiate it. You had even decided on what would be recited at the wedding: Rhapsody in Plain Yellow, a poem by Marilyn Chin. You stayed up any night you could in order to rehearse it and in order to make sure that you would be perfect for the day when you would graduate from Byers’ fiance, to his husband. Excited was an understatement, as despite the chaos and the hectic moments and the overthinking and the stress, at the end of the day, your loved ones were there to help you both out, and at the end of the day, you would be getting married to the love of your life, you would be getting married to John Fitzgerald Byers, and fuck, nothing could have made you happier than that. 

But, there was always a little bit of rain to go with the parade, and you couldn’t have said that you didn’t expect to see Krycek standing against the wall when you went to take the bins out one morning. 

“You have exactly three seconds to fuck right off, or else I’m gonna rip your fuckin’ throat out,” you warned, those eyes glowing and your lips curling back in a snarl, your shoulders growing tense as you clenched your jaw. “Five. Four-”

“Wait,” Krycek chuckled nervously, holding his hands out as he shook his head. He had gotten a new prosthetic fitted. “I’m not here to cause trouble.” 

“Oh, you’re always here to cause trouble,” you snarled, taking the few steps forward and grabbing him by the neck, pinning him against the wall as you snapped, “the fuck do you want, mate?”

“Please,” he struggled to push your hand from his throat, his voice garbled and strangulated. “I just need to-”

“Nope,” your grip grew tighter on his throat as you lifted your knee up, jerking it so that your kneecap slammed right into his crotch, making him howl and cry out loudly with pain. “I ain’t letting you fuck this up, Krycek. I’ve got important fucking shit to handle, and I don’t need the likes of your little rat ass sniffing about and trying to fuck it all up.” You slammed him against the wall again. “So fuck off.” 

“Another rat problem?” Frohike sighed as he picked the bat up from beside the door, ushering you away before he brandished the baseball bat, it was spiked and clad in barbed wire and dressed in rusty nails. He smiled at Krycek. “I’ll handle it.” 

You watched, fairly amused, as Frohike chased Krycek down the street with the bat, laughing a little to yourself as you held open the door for the hero of the hour; Frohike couldn’t stop laughing either when he came back inside, placing the baseball bat down in its usual place. 

“Maybe you should’ve brought that when you came to stay with me,” you joked, nudging his shoulder. 

“I should’ve,” he agreed with a nod. “Little rat bastard, he just won’t go away.” 

“No, I know, but-” the scent of sweet perfume made you stop in your tracks, grinning from ear to ear for a moment before darting off in the direction of the sweet, sweet, smell, only to skid and to falter slightly when you reached Yves. You got in her face, glaring at her, staring right into her eyes as she shook her head. 

“Don’t,” she warned, not bothering to answer the Gunmen when they asked what was going on. “(Y/N), don’t you dare, you-”

And then you grabbed her. Your arms were around her shoulders as you howled in excitement and hugged her tightly; Yves couldn’t deny it, but she was actually quite grateful for the little snippet of affection. Not that she would ever admit it. 

“What was that?” She let out an ‘ugh’ sound as she pushed you away, shaking her head. 

“A hug,” you grinned. 

“Disgusting,” she remarked before quietly adding, “do it again.” 

You did as she commanded, eager to hug your friend tightly as you asked her, excited beyond belief, what she was doing in town, let alone in the office. 

“I’ve come to lend my services,” she said seriously. “You boys are going to need suits for this wedding, and I…” she flashed the card of a tailor. “Happen to know someone who can fix you up - and don’t worry about the price tags, gentlemen, he owes me a favour. Now go, get in your little mystery machine and head over, he closes at nine - tell him that Vera sent you, he’ll know.” 

“Yves-”

“No time for thank yous,” she cleared her throat, shaking her head and pressing the card into your hands. “Get the suits, and I’ll see you all at the wedding.”

Everything had been set into place, it seemed, from the suits to the dresses to the menu to the decorations, everything was set and ready go, but when it was time for you to leave Byers and to spend the night at Fox’s flat, you couldn’t help but to pause outside, typing on your phone. 

“Miss you already.” 

“I miss you, too,” came Byers’ voice from behind you, causing you to flinch a little until you realised who it was. “Can, uh, can I at least drive you over to Mulder’s place? I know it’s bad luck for the grooms to see each other the night before, but-”

“Yes, you can drive me,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes as you placed one hand at the back of his neck, the other on his stubbled jaw. You hated that he insisted on shaving for the wedding, and while he did still look like the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on, you did miss the feel of the beard. You pulled him in for a kiss that was long and slow and passionate and sweet and that left you utterly breathless when you pulled away. “Y’know, John, I couldn't have told you what blue is, until I looked into your eyes…”

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” He asked softly, quietly, those awfully blue eyes seeming to see right through you and right into your soul, as if he very much knew the answer to that question without even needing to ask it in the first place. 

You shrugged, licking your lips and smiling at him. “To be fair, I think it’s just nerves from not being able to sleep with you for one night… are you sure you and the guys are gonna be okay? I mean, Skinner’s picking everyone except me and Fox up, but-”

“I’m sure, Rin Tin Tin,” Byers reassured with a soft chuckle. “We are going to be able to survive one night… well, just about survive.” 

“As long as you’re sure, because I can always just stay and-”

“Hey,” he gently cupped your face in his hands, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be okay for one night… besides, we’re getting married tomorrow - that’s, that’s a little more important.” 

“I know, but how am I gonna marry my fiance if he’s burned the fuckin’ office down?” You asked teasingly, raking a hand through his hair gently. “Fuck…”

“What?” Byers whispered, frowning a little. 

“Nothing, I just… it’s so weird, in a good way obviously, to think that… that tomorrow, I’ll be Mister (Y/N) Byers,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “Twelve hours, and we’ll be married.”

“Twelve hours and we’ll be married,” there was no mistaking the slight giddiness in his voice. “Twenty hours and we’ll be on our honeymoon, too…”

“I think we should skip to that bit,” you joked. “Y;know, just you, and me, and a hotel and a bed that we can f-”

“Hey, guys, not to raise an alarm or anything, but Agent Mulder just pulled up,” Jimmy said as he poked his head out through the door. 

“Tell him we’ll be five minutes,” you replied, shooing Jimmy away so that you could have one last little moment with Byers. “Twelve hours.”

“Twelve hours,” Byers said gently, daring to plant a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I have to wait twelve hours for you to kiss me again,” you whined playfully. But then you turned a little more serious, daring to hum softly. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he replied, dropping his hands from your face in order to lace his fingers with yours. “Are you sure you have everything? The suit, the tie, the-”

“Johnny, I even packed snacks for the ten minute drive,” you chuckled. “I have everything.”

“And if you need me-”

“I have to call you, I know,” you pressed the top of your head to his throat as you sighed. “I’ll see you at the altar, Mister Byers.”

“Wait… before you go,” Byers reached into his pocket and fumbled around for a moment before pulling out a packet of fresh cigarettes and a new lighter. “Just in case. I know… I know what you’re like when you don’t have one for a while.”

“Fuck me, you couldn’t try to be more perfect, could you?” You took the packet of cigarettes and the lighter from him, stuffing them into your pocket as you gently kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you in twelve hours, Mister Byers.”

“I’ll see you soon, Mister Byers,” he whispered tenderly. “I love you.”


End file.
